


Beyond Death

by TiBun, Xenobia



Series: An Earl and his Informant [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bottom Vincent, Canon Het Relationship, Collaboration, F/M, M/M, Rare Pairings, Sequel, Top Undertaker, Vincentaker, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/pseuds/TiBun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Undertaker finds himself in a dilemma when he comes to realize his feelings for Vincent Phantomhive aren't quite professional, and he tries to help him survive as the new head of the Phantomhive household.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Vincentaker roleplay (Xenobia as Undertaker, Tibun as Vincent) inspired by "Coal" by Xenobia which is marked as part one in the series.
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own any recognizable characters, only explore the possibilities.

_"Happy Christmas, you naughty chap. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow._

Even as he replayed the moment in his mind, he wondered whatever had possessed him to steal that kiss beneath the mistletoe and stuff a lump of coal down Earl Phantomhive's pants. He'd always been the impulsive sort, but romantic liaisons with customers or employers was one thing he had always avoided. He shouldn't be courting a mortal _at all_ , let alone the head of the household he'd been in service to for generations.

"Foolish," he remonstrated himself as he worked over his newest acquisition. The young man had been killed by his lover's jealous husband; shot cleanly through the heart. Undertaker grinned at hi and clarified: "I was speaking of myself, not you. Though I suppose it applies to you as well. Diddling a married woman…what did you _expect_ to happen, boy?"

He frowned a moment later, pausing his suturing. "Of course, old Undertaker is contemplating having a diddle of his own with a soon to be married young man. Perhaps I'm not one to judge."

He checked the time and he sighed. Vincent would be expecting him soon. He'd invited him to come to the estate and have Christmas dinner with him, since he was spending it alone this year. "Bad idea, I know," he admitted to his oblivious guest, "though I doubt the Lady Durless would shoot me if she discovered my interest in her betrothed, and even if she did, it wouldn't put me in the grave like you."

Indeed, most—if not all—noble marriages were arrangements of convenience, not love. The husbands generally saved their affection for their mistresses, not their wives. It was common for noblemen to keep a lover on the side; even expected in some circles. Vincent was very fond of his bride-to-be, though. Undertaker couldn't imagine him taking a mistress on the side and siring bastards, even if it was acceptable in his position.

"But would he take a consort, I wonder?" Muttered the ancient. After all, he had proof that Vincent was attracted to men as well as women. He looked down at the corpse on his table. "You're no help."

Well, at least the Earl couldn't embarrass his Lady with illegitimate children, if he took a male lover…let alone a reaper who couldn't reproduce even if he wanted to. Reapers weren't born; they were created from chosen souls of humans—save for the oldest ones like Undertaker. Unlike most of his brethren, he had never been human.

"I've got to get these thoughts out of my foolish old head," insisted the mortician. Mortals never made the ideal lovers, even if they weren't legally bound to another in matrimony. Their lives were so brief and so fragile. Undertaker reached down and patted the chain of lockets around his waist.

"Yes, too brief," he murmured sadly in a tone that living ears never heard from him. He decided not to show for the dinner. He could say he was too busy to make it, if questioned. No matter how delightful it felt to push that handsome young man up against the wall and ravish his gasping lips, he needed to keep things professional from now on.

Oh, but it would be a difficult test of his resolve, he knew.

* * *

 

Vincent sat in his study alone, resting his chin on his laced fingers as he stared into the blazing fire in the hearth. His mind was focused on one thing: The Undertaker, and how the man had admitted to his not being human—Death, he had said. The Grim Reaper. A keeper of time and collector of souls—though retired—saying that there were many other angels of death to do the work. It explained so much about how the man never aged a single day since the young Earl was just a small child...before that, even. The man was ageless...immortal.

Oh, how fleeting and insignificant human lives must be, to the likes of Undertaker.

And yet, the man—no, the _reaper_ —had kissed him. Absentmindedly, the Earl's fingers unlaced from each other and his fingertips lightly touched his lips. That kiss...it had ruined everything. It only reminded him that his marriage was more of a business arrangement. Yes, he cared for the beautiful blond woman he'd soon wed, but it wasn't love. He was fond of her in other ways, the same way he was fond of his soon-to-be sister in law, Angelina.

Such a fiery redhead. Angelina always made him laugh and she contrasted her gentle sister Rachel. He could have married either sister and felt the same, but the girls' father seemed more interested in marrying off Rachel into the Phantomhive family, so he had chosen to begin courting the lovely Countess Rachel Durless. Really, seeing how most men of nobility married for business and status, he found he'd gotten lucky, having a future wife he could call friend...and perhaps he'd be able to fall in love with her as he was sure his own late father had over time fallen in love with his mother. It wasn't impossible...or at least, it hadn't been.

When Undertaker stole a kiss, lips pressing so lustfully against his own, Vincent had felt a shift within himself. After having time alone to dwell on the feelings that kiss unearthed, he almost wished he could take the Undertaker as his wife. Impossible, he knew. He could get away with breaking a few laws if he wished. His status as an earl and the Queen's guard dog allowed him such...but to take part in sexual activities...to want to break the sanctity of marriage by being with another man...that was one law he was sure he couldn't get away with between the Church and the Crown.

He'd also never forgive himself for hurting his pride and good name as a Phantomhive for going back on his word to wed Rachel.

But he wanted to feel that man's touch again...

The Earl's thoughts were interrupted by his head butler Tanaka, who knocked on the door before stepping in and giving a small bow.

"Sir, dinner is getting cold and your guest doesn't seem to be coming. Should I have the staff wait a while longer?"

"No, that's fine, Tanaka. I'll take dinner alone. You and the other staff may enjoy what is left," Vincent said, standing up and turning to walk down to the dining hall, decorated divinely for the holiday...and only to be enjoyed by the eyes of one lonely young Earl.

Maybe the reaper had decided that humans were too fleeting, or perhaps the kiss they had shared was a cruel joke meant to disturb the waters Vincent now sailed in as head of the house and a future husband.

He should have felt angry, yet he felt more...depressed by the notion as he sat down to eat alone.

* * *

 

Undertaker probably would have laid any doubts of his insanity to rest, if anyone could see him now. He kept stepping toward the shop door, only to stop, turn around and shake his head.

"No, we decided that was a bad idea," he reminded himself. He was speaking of himself and his latest "client" when he said "we", of course, but carrying on conversations with dead bodies was no better than talking to oneself.

"Where is the harm in a good meal and pleasant conversation?" He argued to nobody in particular. "I can eat with the man without pushing him down on the table and having my way with...with...oh, dammit all. What have I gone and done to myself, now?"

It was just a kiss; just a bit of holiday mischief and curiosity. He'd done it to fluster the earl for his own amusement, but now he simply could not banish it from his mind. The temptation to grope him while he had his hands down his pants had been difficult enough to ignore, but now his body wanted even more.

"Greedy thing," he accused himself. "No good can come of this."

Well, orgasms could come of it and that was always a good thing, but the price he knew he would eventually pay was too steep. Quite simply, Undertaker was no good with meaningless dalliances. He was a terrific flirt, but he wasn't interested in casual sex, and he always fell for his lovers when he entered a relationship.

And Earl Phantomhive was due to be married...not to mention, he was a mortal.

The ancient death god sighed and shuffled his feet sulkily. "Best stick with the plan," he mumbled. "Keep it professional."

He went to his desk and sat down to write a falsely cheerful letter to the earl, begging his pardon for being unable to join him due to his busy schedule.

* * *

 

The earl finished his meal, and having no one to occupy his time, Vincent found that he simply couldn't keep himself busy. Reading wasn't working, and he was caught up for the time being on his work, as the holidays had provided him both with a lighter workload and more time to do it in. So, having nothing more to do, he retired to his chambers and started to strip himself down. It was Christmas, after all. Tanaka deserved a break from his duties, he was such a hard worker.

Just as he was slipping into bed, there was a knock and Tanaka walked in, a letter sitting upon his silver tray. "Word from the Undertaker, Sir."

Vincent took the letter, nodding in thanks and dismissing the butler. He opened the letter and read over it, finding himself having to hold back a curse.

Work. The reaper had stood him up for work that could have waited until morning, no doubt.

In a somewhat childish fit, he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fireplace, watching it go up in flame.

* * *

 

He'd had a very rough night. That brief but passionate kiss plagued him from the moment he retired to his coffin to the moment he woke up. His dreams were filled with fantasies about claiming more than his young employer's lips...and the brandy he'd consumed to help him sleep was now rearing its ugly head. How many glasses had he had? Six? Seven? He couldn't recall.

Feeling like someone had his skull in a slowly tightening vise, he opened his coffin and practically rolled out of it. "Mercy," he grumbled, putting a hand to his pounding head. Even the soft sound of his boots hitting the creaky wooden floor seemed too loud, and he winced with every step he took.

"Tea," muttered Undertaker, "tea will make it better...and aspirin."

He had to give Vincent Phantomhive credit; his attraction to the man drove him to drink faster than any previous love interest he'd ever had. He checked the time and he swore. His customers would be picking up the body for the funeral, shortly. There was no time for tea or a bath. Temporarily forgetting his angst over his Phantomhive dilemma, Undertaker hurried to the basement to transfer the preserved body to its coffin.

* * *

 

A week passed by, and Undertaker had no further contact with the earl. Business resumed as normal both at the mortuary and at the Phantomhive estate, until one night, a dark figure snuck into the grounds of the estate. He managed to get by the security guards without detection, and he stealthily scaled the walls of the manor to the lord of the estate's bedroom window.

He pulled himself up on the ledge and he flattened against the wall, smirking with confidence. The Phantomhive security was indeed lax. He peered through the window and he saw the earl asleep on his bed.

Perfect.

With a last look around to be sure the coast was clear, he got out his glass cutter and suction cup to carve a neat hole in the window. He paused when the earl stirred slightly in his sleep, and when he went still again, he removed the piece of glass.

He eased a black-gloved hand in through the hole, and he carefully lifted the latch. He pushed the window open and he climbed in, using the glow of the coke burning in the fireplace to see better in the dark. Reaching for the dagger concealed in his garments, he approached his slumbering mark and he flipped the weapon deftly in his hand.

The blade glinted in the moonlight, and the intruder chose where he would strike as he closed in on the occupant of the bedroom. His boot struck something as he reached the bed, and he looked down to see the shadowed shape of a book. The noise disturbed the sleeper, and the intruder knew he had only seconds to act.

* * *

 

Vincent moaned as his sleep was disturbed, rolling over in his large, king-sized bed. He slowly opened his eyes and realized he wasn't alone. Without a sound, his hand moved up under his pillows and felt for the small pistol he kept there. It was something his father always had in his bed, and he'd figured it was probably for reasons like this. His fingers found its handle and curled around it, ready to pull it out as soon as the intruder moved.

The intruder made his move, interpreting Vincent's motions incorrectly. He lunged with the dagger, changing targets from his chest to his back. Vincent also made his move, turning back and bringing his elbow up to deliver a blow to his attacker, knocking him back enough to bring the cocked gun out and point it at him as he sat up, eyes narrowed.

The assassin froze when he saw the weapon, and he debated the situation quietly. He made as if to lower his knife, but it was a ruse. The moment Vincent relaxed his guard slightly, the man lunged for him again, with his dagger leading the way.

The Earl finally let out a gasp, losing his cool, emotionless expression as he rolled out of the way, the gun firing off, but the bullet only grazed the attacker and embedded itself into the wall behind him. The assassin jumped onto the bed and stabbed, burying his blade into the mattress as Vincent rolled away. He made another dive at the Earl as the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and the door flew open to admit an older gentleman in a nightcap and gown.

Tanaka took one look at the situation, aimed the pistol in his hand and fired...all in the space of three heartbeats. The shot hit the intruder in the throat and he dropped his dagger to clamp his hand over the mortal injury. He sank to his knees as the butler placed himself between him and the young lord, and he fell over gurgling.

He was dead within moments.

"Are you injured, Sir?" Questioned Tanaka, taking his eyes off the dead man to look Vincent over with concern.

The Earl's heart was racing, his breath heavy as if he'd been running, but he hid his startled emotions behind an expression of indifference. "Startled, but unharmed," he stated once he trusted his voice enough to speak. "Thank you, Tanaka."

He slid out of bed, still holding his gun as he peered down at the man. "It seems our night security may need to be re-advised."

* * *

 

Undertaker got a peculiar call the very next day. The Phantomhive butler rung him up, asking him if he would come to the estate and examine a body.

"I've had stranger requests," admitted the mortician. "What happened; did a staff member or dinner guest keel over under suspicious circumstances?"

"No Sir, I'm afraid this one was an intruder," answered Tanaka in his cultured voice. "He made an attempt on the Earl's life late last night, and—"

Undertaker dropped the phone on its cradle without ceremony and got out of his chair, heading out the door without even listening to the rest.

* * *

 

Back at the estate, Tanaka frowned. "Hello? Are you there, Sir?"

He got the dial tone a moment later, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it. He hadn't even gotten the chance to tell the informant that Vincent didn't know he was making this call. Vincent told him not to call the Yard just yet, because whomever had sent the assassin after him might send someone to investigate when he failed to report back...and that could give them the opportunity to flush them out. If the Yard got involved, it would get back to the assassin's employers and put them on their guard.

He wondered if the Undertaker would come or not, but he believe that he would. He seemed quite fond of the young Earl, after all.

* * *

 

The Earl had slept fitfully the rest of the night in a guest room closer to the servant quarters. His lack of proper rest had resulted in bags under his eyes, and he rubbed them as he sat at his desk in his office. Feeling antsy, he sighed and stood up, walking out of his office and down the hall, thinking some fresh air would do him some good; a quick walk around the frozen gardens, maybe.

While Vincent was wandering the grounds in search of inner peace, his family informant arrived. Undertaker pulled his wagon to a stop, and he hopped down as a footman approached. He patted the animal on the neck and fed her a granola bar from a pocket in his robes.

"Give her a brush-down, would you?" He said to the footman as he came to lead the animal away with the cart. "I'll be needing access to the wagon for surgical supplies later. Don't park it in a tight spot to reach."

The footman bowed. "Of course, Sir."

As the servant led the cart away to the stables, Undertaker tipped his hat to him and started for the stairs leading up to the front doors. He spotted Vincent Phantomhive coming around from the back of the manor, dressed warmly for the chill weather. He saw the reaper and he stopped in his tracks, looking vaguely uncertain of himself.

Seeing him again brought back the memory of the kiss beneath the mistletoe with startling clarity, and Undertaker was nearly overwhelmed with the urge to rush over to him and inspect him for damage. Instead, he grinned broadly at the young man, tipped his hat in greeting and walked over to him at a more reserved pace.

"To what might I owe the visit?" Vincent asked as the reaper approached him. His tone was smooth, even and professional, yet held a hint of surprise—and resentment.

The sullen undertone didn't escape the mortician's notice. His grin nearly faltered as it occurred to him that the Earl was actually upset with him, and he assumed it was because of his inappropriate behavior on Christmas Eve.

"I hear you've got a body you need me to look at," he answered, keeping his tone light and using his "street voice". He disliked the dark circles under the young man's usually vibrant eyes even more than he disliked the resentment that he sensed from him.

Using his true voice—which was much smoother and a bit deeper than his mortician voice—he leaned in to ask a soft question. "Are you all right? You look terrible."

Vincent frowned. "I didn't quite get a proper night's rest, is all," he stated simply, somewhat startled by how his heart had leapt as the man leaned in. Of course he hadn't been about to kiss him again. Why would he think that he would? It was a one-time thing...a joke.

He turned away. "I believe the servants have moved the body into the west foyer. I assume Tanaka called you in?"

Undertaker gave a nod, his voice once again returning to the slightly scratchy timbre with the cockney accent. "He did indeed, my lord. You haven't gotten the Yard involved yet, have you?"

"No. But of course, I hadn't known you had been called. I had wished to keep this secret for a while."

Undertaker's expression darkened, his demeanor shifting even more. "You loggerheaded, clay-brained nut-hook!"

He grabbed the Earl by the shoulders, his voice changing again in his sincere ire. "What were you planning to do with him, hmm? Leave him rotting in your house while you try to pretend nothing happened? You should have called on me immediately, rather than stumbling about like some stupefied zombie. Now take me to the body immediately, while it's still fresh enough for me to question it."

"I had planned to flush out who sent him to kill me in my own bed!" Vincent snapped, not meaning to lose his professional tone, "I thought it would be nice to feel safe to fall asleep on my own estate, rather than have to hide out in a guest room!"

Undertaker's demeanor abruptly shifted again, and he smiled almost tendertly at him and sighed. "Brave, foolish boy," he whispered, reaching out to stroke aside a lock of blue-black hair that had fallen over Vincent's left eye. "Choosing to leave Scotland Yard out of it was smart, but trying to leave _me_ out was hair-brained. Fortunately, your butler had more common sense."

He loomed close to the Earl suddenly and without warning, staring into his eyes from beneath the veil of his pale bangs. "I can help keep you alive for a while longer, if you'll trust me as you once did.

" _Trust_ you," Vincent stubbornly scoffed, "You used me as a joke. Had a good laugh at my expense, and then returned to life as normal in your gloomy little shop while I made an even bigger fool of myself, waiting for you...hoping you'd show up to dinner. What's to say you won't do so again, if I place my trust in you once more? How many have you done such to over the span of your ungodly existence?"

He turned away. "I don't need your help if the price is going to be so cruel. I could handle this myself. I am my father's heir, I am the Queen's Watchdog, and I can handle whatever ruffians attempt to break into my home in the dead of night."

The reaper stared at him. "So...this coldness and resentment is over...dinner?"

He started to laugh, ridiculously happy. He tried to stifle it, but it was too bleedin' funny. Seeing Vincent's glare, he tried to explain. "Oh...ahaha! You...I thought you were brassed off about the _kiss_! I...haha...never showed for the dinner because...hehe...I thought you wouldn't want to see me after that, and you were just too polite to retract the invitation!"

Never mind that part of the reason he hadn't shown was his own uncertainty and fear...it was such a relief to find out his advances weren't unwelcome. He'd practically assaulted the lad, after all.

Vincent blinked up at the reaper. "...The kiss...?" He shook his head. "If I had been angry over that, I would have withdrawn my invitation."

Undertaker reined in the histarics, remembering why he was there. Still grinning helplessly, he sighed. "I wanted to come. I spent the entire night drinking brandy and mentally flogging myself."

He saw what he was doing and he knew that it was dangerous, but he couldn't help himself. He reached out again to touch the Earl's face, his smile softening. "I didn't plan that kiss, my lord. It came in a moment of mischievous stupidity, and maybe I wanted to see how you would react, but I didn't do it to mock you. I've always been rather fond of you, Vincent."

His grin sharpened again. "Did you enjoy it so much, then?"

The young man felt his cheeks heat up. "I only enjoyed it if you meant it," he fibbed. He had enjoyed it, but if it had been meaningless to the reaper, then he needed it to be meaningless to himself...for his sake, and for Rachel's.

Undertaker hesitated, struggling with himself. Yes, of course the kiss meant something to him. Initially ventured out of curiosity, that one damned encounter plagued him every night since. Vincent was mortal though, and one day sooner or later, his spirit would depart and leave Undertaker alone, once more.

"Earl, it's..."

He was going to say "complicated", but he looked at those tired, watchful eyes and his resolve cracked. "Oh, balls," muttered the reaper, yanking his hat off his head to keep it out of the way. He pulled the young man roughly against him and he gave him a repeat performance, forgetting that they were outside.

It was all well and good to tease the man about kissing one of his campus mates outside, but Undertaker found himself quite helpless against Vincent's charms and he made a big fat hypocrite of himself, delving his tongue into his mouth to mate with the Earl's.

Vincent yipped in surprise, having opened his mouth to add his statement: _"And don't answer that you've been focusing on how I'm only a human and you are as old as time",_ but the words were quickly lost as his lips were claimed. His eyes flickered closed and his arms encircled the reaper's shoulders, getting entangled in the long white hair as he pulled himself tighter against the irritatingly irresistible man.

Undertaker deepened the kiss, his body aching with need in response to Vincent's warm, willing eagerness. He stroked the Earl's teeth, the roof of his mouth and every part of his tongue. Fondling, gliding, thrusting and curling, his tongue gave Vincent a vivid sample of what the reaper wished to do with his whole body.

Sadly, all good things had to end. Undertaker sensed another mortal approaching, and he suddenly panicked, pushing Vincent away so abruptly that the young lord lost his balance and fell to the snow with a cry. Undertaker winced, and he knew he'd pay for that later, but he painted a bright smile on his face for Tanaka as the butler rounded the corner of the house.

"Mr. Tanaka," he greeted, "I was just discussing the matter of the body with your master."

He turned to offer poor Vincent a hand up. "Are you all right, Earl? You tripped on that root rather suddenly."

Vincent's face was already flushed, his breath still catching in his throat. He had half a mind to give in and throw a childish fit over being treated in such a way—but the appearance of the butler brought the reality of everything down onto his rage, settling it down quickly. He sighed and accepted the reaper's help. "It was more the ice hidden under last night's snowfall," he stated simply, brushing himself off.

"Please excuse the interruption," said the butler with a graceful bow. "I was informed of your arrival, Undertaker. If I may, I can show you to our 'guest' now."

Undertaker nodded and he hoped he wasn't blushing. He avoided looking at the object of his lust as he addressed him, stuffing the hat back onto his head. "Earl, will you accompany us?" He asked. "I think you should bear witness to anything I discover."

Inwardly as he looked at the exhausted young man, he thought that nobody should look that good when so tired.

The Earl nodded. "Very well," he agreed, leading the way into the manor and letting Tanaka take his heavy winter coat off him before the three of them moved to where the attacker's corpse lay. Vincent took out his handkerchief before entering, holding it over his nose and mouth...though the man hadn't yet started to stink as the room was kept cold.

Undertaker knelt before the corpse, removing his hat to lay it aside on the floor. He pulled the mass of his silver hair aside and he bent over the corpse. He listened for a moment, before straightening up and getting back to his feet with a nod.

"Shut the door if you please, Mr. Tanaka. Only you and the Earl are permitted to see this."

"Of course, Sir," said the butler, and he closed and locked the door.

Undertaker shot a smirk at Vincent. "Your butler has been around long enough to know my true nature, but he is sworn to secrecy."

Tanaka nodded. "Yes, I am," he agreed softly. "I presume that you intend to read this man's records?"

"Yes. A feat that wouldn't have been possible, if I hadn't arrived soon enough after his death." He looked at Vincent and his expression softened a bit. "I will get as many answers for you as I can, my lord."

The Earl nodded, keeping his distance from the body. "Then by all means, do as you must," he said, curious as to how the reaper would "read" the dead body's memories.

Undertaker called upon his death scythe, and while the Earl and his butler watched, he knelt by the body and made one smooth cut. The mortals in the room could not see the cinematic records that came forth, but the retired death god could review them easily. He watched them closely, paying special attention to the last 48 hours of the assassin's life.

When he'd gathered the information he needed, Undertaker stood back up, put his hat back on and approached his companions with a cold smile on his lips. "Baron Hamilton," he said in satisfaction. "I witnessed the signing of the contract. How rude, young Earl. You invited that treacherous old sod to your last Halloween masquerade, as I recall."

"Hamilton," repeated Tanaka with a sigh. "I might have known. Ever has he coveted the Phantomhives' standing with the Queen."

Undertaker nodded. "And now his greed is going to turn 'round on him and gnaw him on the withered, rotund backside."

He looked at Vincent again, his hidden gaze glittering eagerly beneath his bangs. He took his hat off again and he offered the Earl a graceful bow. "Please allow me to do the honors and take care of him for you, my lord."

Tanaka's gray brows lifted with surprise, and he spoke before Vincent could respond to the offer. "But Sir, you have always been a neutral party in all Phantomhive affairs. Whatever happened to your insistence that conflicts like this aren't any of your business?"

Undertaker spared him a mad grin, before his strange, dual colored eyes settled on Vincent again. "There comes a time when even Death must choose a side, old chap. I have my reasons. Well, young lord? Will you entrust old Undertaker to rid you of this pest? I promise you, the authorities won't stand a chance of tracking it back to you. They'll think he had a heart attack."

Vincent hesitated. He hadn't seen anything but the reaper cut the body and then stared at it for a time, and Tanaka was right; Undertaker had always been neutral as far as he had witnessed as a boy, learning under his father. Maybe the request to take care of the Baron was the reaper's way of promising that those kisses had meant something special to him as well? If so, he'd have to trust Undertaker that he was right about the Baron.

But Vincent, though crafty and had always done what he had to in order to achieve his goals, had never involved someone's life before. If he agreed, he was sure that the Baron would possibly be killed, and that thought made him hesitate all the more. Life was something every man, woman and child had only one of...as far as he knew, anyway.

"Take care of him how?" he questioned.

Undertaker cast a significant look over his shoulder at the body lying on the floor. "The same way he tried to take care of you, Earl, only without the mess. It will be quick and clean—which is more than that man deserves, if you ask me."

The Earl considered it, going over the situation in his mind again. The Baron was a powerful, greedy man, and likely wouldn't stop his assaults until he succeeded...and what if he also set his sights on poor Rachel? How far would he go to climb up the social ladder?

It was unfortunate, but the best solution for the safety of not just himself, but those he cared for, too. He couldn't, after all, turn him in to Scotland Yard...what would he say? What proof did he have? "An old immortal undertaker read the dead body of a hired assassin, which told him that the Baron was behind it"? He'd be taken for a madman!

Finally, Vincent gave a small nod. "Very well."

Undertaker grinned and bowed again. "Come nightfall, he'll never trouble you or anyone else again."

He put his hat back on and banished his death scythe. Whistling a cheery melody, he walked to the door. He paused at the threshold and looked back at the body. "You can call the Yard. It won't matter if the Baron discovers his goon's fate, now."

Vincent nodded again. "Tanaka, would you please take care of that?" he asked as they saw the reaper to the door. "And Undertaker, please do keep me informed on the status of the Baron."

"I'll ring you when it's taken care of," promised the mortician. He took his leave then, eager to rid the world of one more fool that would dare threaten the Queen's Guard Dog. He knew it wouldn't be the last time an enemy made an attempt on Vincent's life, but it would be one less murdering cretin to worry about.

"Thank you," said Vincent, "and do be careful."

* * *

 

As promised, Undertaker got the job done quickly, cleanly and without so much as a peep of sound to alert the Baron's household. He came and went like a shadow, putting an end to the man while he slumbered. While reviewing his cinematic records, he discovered something a bit startling; the Baron was also responsible for the previous Earl's death. Undertaker always knew it was poison that killed Vincent's father, but he'd never found out who delivered it...until now.

He pondered the information as he quietly left the Baron's estate. Should he tell Vincent what he had learned? If he did, would the young noble resent him for depriving him of the honor of killing him in vengeance? Vincent didn't seem like the vengeful sort, but in all his long years of reaping them and interacting with them, Undertaker had never managed to completely understand the workings of the human mind. Even a merciful soul like Vincent was capable of vengeful wrath.

He decided he was best off being honest with him, but this was a thing best told to someone in person. He returned to his wagon, which was waiting down the road from the Baron's estate for him. Rather than go back to his shop in London, Undertaker took a different route to the Phantomhive estate.

* * *

 -To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Vincent finished up his workload for the day, and stood to stretch as he contemplated taking his dinner a little late and calling for some tea and a small slice of cake…or if he should take dinner early and try to catch up on some much-needed sleep.  He didn’t know when Undertaker would be calling on him to report about the baron…which made the choice a difficult one.

 

 

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Tanaka," said Undertaker as the butler saw him to Vincent’s office.  "See to it that the Earl and I aren’t disturbed, won’t you?"

Tanaka nodded.  “Of course.  Shall I announce you to the Earl, now?”

"I’ll announce myself," said the mortician.  He smirked.  "I usually do."

"Very well, Sir.  Please excuse me."  Tanaka bowed and walked away to go and do whatever it was butlers did with their time, leaving Undertaker alone outside the door.

Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, Undertaker turned the knob and opened the door…only to find Vincent right there on the other side with one hand out in a grasping gesture, as though he had been about to open it himself.  The Earl gave a start at the sight of him, and the reaper grinned.

"Afternoon, guvnor.  I finished early."

He pushed past the startled man and shut the door behind him, leaning up against it.  His voice immediately changed to its more cultured persona.  “Have a seat, Vincent.  We need to talk, and I’m fairly sure you aren’t going to like what I have to say.”

The Earl frowned, lowering himself onto the horsehair couch he kept in his study.  It wasn’t comfortable, but it had belonged to his grandfather.  “I swear to God, Undertaker, if you mean to tell me I had him killed for no reason—”

"No, nothing like that," assured the mortician as he sat down beside him.  "In fact, when you hear what I have to say, you may wish you had the power to resurrect him, just so you could kill him again yourself."

He measured the young man with his eyes before coming out with it, wondering how he’d take the news.  “When I reaped the Baron, I discovered through witnessing his cinematic records that he was also responsible for the poison that took your father’s life.”

"I…I see…"

Vincent looked down into his lap, where his hands were folded.  “So it really hadn’t been a heart attack…”  He honestly didn’t know how to take the news himself.  He hadn’t been incredibly close with his father, and knowing the truth didn’t bring the man back from the grave.

"I didn’t expect to find his killer this way…or at all, for that matter."

Not used to comforting people, Undertaker reached out to give the young man’s shoulder a squeeze.  “You all right, love?”

Vincent nodded.  “I’m just…lost as to what to think.  My father and I were never incredibly close; I think he blamed me for Mother’s death…but he still raised me to be a proper gentleman and an Earl.”  He sighed.  “But it seems I made the right choice in letting you go after him.  He’s killed once, at least.  Even if he had succeeded in killing me, what’s to say he stops at me?  It was for the greater good.”

"Yes, it was.  Never doubt that, my compassionate young friend.  I know you’d rather not hear this right now, but your station in life requires you to be ruthless, or you aren’t going to last for very long."

Undertaker stroked the Earl’s dark hair, admiring the blue-ish highlights in it. Your enemies—and you will have many of them—aren’t going to give you any quarter.  Today, you proved that you’re willing to give as good as you get, and that’s a good thing.  I’m not saying that you need to start acting like a wanker like the rest of them, but you do need to show your social circle that you aren’t a man to be trifled with.  Think of it as survival if you must, but adopt a colder persona when in public.”

The mortician winked at him, though the expression was hidden beneath his hair.  “Death knows, I’m a bit familiar with the practice of deception, my lord.  Trust me in this.  Only those closest to you need to see your true face.”

The Earl sighed and looked up, raising his hands to push the soft white fringe from the reaper’s face.  “I know I must…but it doesn’t mean it’s any easier to be responsible for taking another man’s life.  Life is irreplaceable, and I believe it should be held a little more sacred than most men of nobility seem to.  A death doesn’t just affect the dead man, but also his friends and family.  The Baron may have been a problem to be taken care of, but he was still a man with a family…he had loved ones who have now lost him.”

"There’s that bloody compassion again," sighed the mortician, but he smiled, unable to help but admire the young man’s uncommon capacity for it.  "You just let me take care of the dirty work for now, but some day soon, you’re going to have to pull that trigger yourself…and you can’t afford to miss.  Your enemies won’t give a pig’s fart about robbing your loved ones of you, and one day, you’re sure to have children of your own to think about."

"I’m perfectly capable of doing what I need to, if necessary.  If there are other ways to deal with something, I’d rather take that route, first."

Undertaker shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”

He stared at him for a moment, his gaze latching onto the noble’s lips.  “She’ll make a good wife and mother, your Rachel.  I don’t sense a cruel bone in her body.  You chose well.”

"She’s a good woman, and a great friend," Vincent agreed, meeting the reaper’s gaze.  "I’ve no doubt she’ll be a great wife and mother."

Undertaker didn’t fail to notice that he referred to her as a friend, and he leaned in closer to Vincent.  “Any plans to take a mistress, then?”

His voice deepened to a husky drone as he reached out to sift his long black nails through the Earl’s hair.  “Or perhaps a consort?”

He was close enough to kiss him, if he wanted.  He felt the need for some clarification though, before he plunged his fool heart into something that he knew he should not even be considering.

"I take my vows seriously, Undertaker.  I have given her my word that she would be the only woman I touch, and I have no reason to go back on that promise.  Nor do I have any interest to do so…" he trailed off, his tone softening as he eyed the reaper’s thin lips.  "…but I never said anything about not bedding a man, and I think it’s afe to assume that a dance with death is far from breaking my promise."

His words impassioned the mortician, making his breath catch, ever so slightly.

_~Don’t do it, old fool.  Don’t—~_

"Oh, I’ll give you much more than a dance, my lord."

_~Dammit.~_

He kissed him then, his body and heart disconnecting from his common sense.

The young Earl couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, shifting to straddle the ancient’s lap.  He was being greedy…he knew that…perhaps taking advantage of his companion.  He was human and his life and youth wouldn’t last long at all in Undertaker’s eyes.  He’d only hurt him if they continued this, but he couldn’t help himself as he clung to every kiss they shared.  Undertaker had to know that Vincent wouldn’t last forever…he knew what he was getting into with him.

A bit surprised by Vincent’s sudden shift in position—in a good way—Undertaker put his arms around him and he thrust his tongue into his mouth demandingly, issuing a low growl of delight.  He let his hands wander a bit, sliding over the Earl’s hips and around to his backside.

_~Perfect, muscular ass or not, he isn’t for you, old codger.~_

"Shut it, brain," muttered the reaper aloud, his command muffled by the kiss.

Vincent paused, his eyes flickering open as he reluctantly pulled back.  “I’m being too greedy, aren’t I?” He whispered, hurt by the realization and small confirmation.

"No, no," insisted Undertaker, pulling him close again.  "Don’t listen to my babbling.  I spend most of the time in the company of myself and the dead, love.  I talk to myself sometimes, is all."

_~He isn’t the one being greedy.~_

_~Didn’t I just tell you to shut it?~_

This time, he kept the mental argument to himself and he cupped the back of Vincent’s head to pull him down for another kiss.

Vincent took a deep, shaky breath before their lips met once more.  Just because the man spoke to himself didn’t mean that he wasn’t being greedy, falling in love with the reaper and hoping—no,  _expecting_  Undertaker to fall in love with him in turn—but once more, the skill of the reaper’s lips and tongue pushed his thoughts aside as his mouth was explored.

Undertaker contemplated rolling the Earl over onto the sofa and claiming that perfect ass of his, but then a butler happened.  Tanaka’s soft knock disturbed the flow of their lusty encounter, and the mortician nearly groaned in frustration as his voice floated through the door.

"Master Vincent, the Lady Duress is on the telephone for you.  Shall I tell her you will return her call?"

"R-Rachel?"  The Earl blinked and shook his head with a sigh.  Things were getting out of hand, it seemed.  He glanced at his companion, an apologetic look on his face as he pulled away.  "No thank you, Tanaka.  I should take it."  He looked at Undertaker.  "I apologize.  I’ll be but a moment."

Undertaker likewise sobered at the announcement.  He waited for the Earl to climb off his lap and stand back up, before getting up from the couch.  “No need to apologize, Earl.  She is your betrothed, after all.”

Deciding that now wasn’t the time to explore this further, the reaper put his hat back on and glided over to the door.  He put one hand on the knowb, turned and bowed to Vincent.  “I shall take my leave of you now, but feel free to stop by or call on me whenever you like.”

He paused in the act of turning the knob, and he half-turned to look at Vincent.  “You know, you’ve managed to surprise me yet again.  I fully expected you to want at least a smidgen of vengeance for your father’s death.  Are you certain you wouldn’t like to spit on the Baron’s grave, at least?”

Vincent shook his head.  “Thank you, but death is punishement enough,” he said, a little disappointed that the reaper was leaving.  He picked up the phone from the cradle.  “Rachel?”

The mortician left without another sound, tipping his hat to Tanaka on his way out.  He ignored the voice of his common sense as he hitched his donkey back up to his cart and drove away.

Things were…complicated, but then all great loves were.  He stopped the cart abruptly, making its carrier bay out in protest.  Love?  Was that really what he was feeling?  It had been so long, he barely recognized it.

"Bugger," muttered the reaper, snapping the reins.

 

 

* * *

The next day, Vincent got a letter from the Queen, assigning him to the task of working with the Yard to investigate the murder of one of her own guardsmen, in London.  The body had already been delivered to Undertaker’s mortuary, and the Earl was the only one he would discuss the matter with.

Vincent chuckled to himself.  Crafty, stubborn old man, Undertaker was.  He ordered his carriage and donned his heavy coat and a top hat.  Cane in hand, he had his driver take him directly to the mortuary.  The letter included all the basic case information that the Yard had already uncovered, so he had no reason to speak with them yet.

 

 

* * *

 

"But why won’t you discuss the matter with us?" Demanded the inspector, bristling.  "You are impeding a very important investigation, by refusing to cooperate!"

Undertaker spread his hands, his oversized sleeves flapping with the motion.  “I’ve already told you, INspector; my information is reserved for the Queen’s Guard Dog…not a barnyard mutt that can’t even tell a decent joke.  Do yourself a favor and keep your day job.”

The middle-aged blond man curled his hands into fists.  “How dare you!  I—”

At that moment, the little bell hanging over the mortuary door rang, and Vincent Phantomhive came in.  Undertaker smiled with genuine pleasure at the sight of him, hardly believeing it had only been a day since they last saw one another.

"Well, speak of the devil!  Pleasure to see you agin, my dear Earl."  The mortician tipped his hat at the young man, silently admiring the way he looked today.  "I’ve been expecting you.  I have a kettle of tea warming in the back for us."

He gestured at the two other men in the room.  “This is inspector Dumb—”

"That’s ‘Plum’!"

"—and his assistant, Dingleberry—"

"Canterbury," corrected the younger officer.

Undertaker shrugged.  “I’m terrible with names.  You’ll have to pardon me for that.”  He winked at Vincent with an amused smirk, though his bangs hid the gesture.  “At any rate, these gents were just leaving.”

"But—" the inspector started to protest, but Undertaker ushered him and his companion out the door before either of them could get another word out.

"Run along now…shoo.  The Earl and I have business to discuss.  Off with you."

He practically shoved them out the door.  “Have fun playing in the yard, boys.”

Undertaker shut and locked the door, ignoring the inspector’s outraged complaints.  He turned around to face Vincent.  “Now, where were we?”

"I heard you were being quite the stubborn old chap," Vincent said, glancing out the window at the two men, "but I hadn’t quite expected such a show.  There are less troublesome ways of getting me over for a visit, Undertaker."  His lips curled into a small smile as he removed his hat from his head.

"You know I never do things the easy way," chuckled the mortician.  It occurred to him that here in the privacy of his shop, he and Vincent could do whatever they liked together.  That could be a dangerous thing, indeed.

"Well, I should pour the tea and get down to business," said the mortician, "but first…"

He crossed the room and pulled the Earl into his arms for a fierce, demanding kiss of greeting.  All over again, Vincent’s professional front melted away as he was swept into another kiss by the ancient.  A small moan made itself known in his throat as he pressed up against the taller man.

That one little sound threatened to be Undertaker’s undoing.  He purred with satisfaction, savoring the taste and texture of the young man’s lips, mouth and tongue.  He claimed it all aggressively, wanting him more with each passing moment.  Vincent was no shy virgin; he could tell.  He briefly wondered how many other men he’d shared his body with, but he really didn’t care…so long as he was the only one, from now on.

Driven by possessive impulse, the mortician backed his companion up against the nearest wall and grabbed his wrists, pinning them over his head and holding them there, as he’d done the night he kissed him under the mistletoe.

"You’re mine, Earl," he decided aloud, his voice a soft growl of desire.  "Say it."

"I’m yours, Undertaker…I’m all yours," breathed the Earl lustfully, sliding his left leg up along the reaper’s and hooking it on his hip to pull him in tight, groin against groin.  "And you are mine."

"Indeed I am."  Undertaker ground himself against Vincent, reveling in the intimate press of their hardened groins through the layers of clothing.  His lips traveled to the Earl’s ear as he held his wrists firmly in place, and he caught the lobe between his teeth, giving it a tug before kissing it.

"I want you entirely too much for my own bloody good," he purred, "but for now, I’ll settle for this."

He ground against him some more, creating a wonderful friction that made him groan.  How easy it would be to toss their current obgligations out the window and lay claim to his body in the most intimate ways possible.

"You are sorely mistaken if you think I don’t wish for the same thing," whispered Vincent in a low, husky tone.  "My dream last night…you were in it."

"Oh?"  Undertaker grinned against his ear, and he traced the outer shell of it with his tongue.  "And what was I doing in this dream of yours, hmm?"

"You weren’t seeing to the dead, that’s for sure."  Vincent smirked.  "Your guest was  _very_  much alive and screaming.”

"In pleasure, or pain?"  He rubbed against him some more, hissing at the sensation.  He might just mess his knickers soon, he was getting so randy.

"Maybe a mixture of both," admitted Vincent.

"I see."  Undertaker smirked. "Maybe we could make that dream a reality, when we’ve completed our duties."

He was again sorely tempted to put said duties on hold, but he didn’t want to encourage bad habits in the Earl.  Being frivolous was fine for the mortician, but Vincent’s survival in this world of royal politics he’d been born into depended on him putting busienss before pleasure and staying alert.

"To get to that point, then, we’d have to start with you telling me what you refused to impart to the Yard," Vincent pointed out in a soft purr.

"Right," agreed Undertaker with a little sigh of regret.  He released Vincent’s wrists and bit back his sexual frustration.  Their time would come.  At least he knew beyond a doubt that his desire was mutual.  "I’ll go and get the tea.  Make yourself comfortable, my lord."

He decided to play one last time before going to the back to fetch their refreshments, and he gave the Earl’s bottom a pat.

Vincent paid no mind to the touch to his rear as he followed the man to the curtain that he guessed led to the reaper’s personal living space.  “Comfortable?  Where, in a coffin?”  Vincent let out a small chuckled.  “I dare say I do not plan to get comfortable in one of those any time soon.  Don’t you have proper seating?”

Undertaker cast a grin over his shoulder at him, and he parted the heavy black curtain, making a graceful, inviting gesture.  If he and Vincent were to become lovers, the young man would eventually wind up in his personal suite anyhow.  “By all means, Earl, come in and have a seat in the kitchen.  I’ll give you the tour after we’ve conducted our business.  It’s not much, but it’s tidy and cozy enough.”

Vincent nodded and followed him back, pausing to glance around at the surroundings.  He was curious to see if the man lived as grimly as he worked.  The living area was just as the mortician described it; clean and cozy.  The floorboards creaked a little here and there when stepped on, but they were polished and there was a carpet runner with deep purple and black covering the floor in the hall leading from the entryway.  Damask wallpaper of grey and black covered the hallway walls, and silver sconces in the shape of the fleur de le provided a warm glow to see by.

Undertaker guided him through a small archway to the left, a few steps into the hallway.  “Here we are,” he said as they stepped into the kitchen.  There was a small round dining table of cherrywood against the corner of the small, dark brick kitchen, and the mortician pulled out one of the two matching wooden chairs for Vincent to sit in.

"Have a seat, my dear, while I pour us some tea."

He went over to the granite-topped counters, where he’d already set out a pair of clean beakers.  He rummaged in the ceramic container of cubes next to the small brick hearth to remove the iron kettle hanging over the coals.

"I’m afraid I’m all out of cream," apologized the reaper.  "How many lumps would you like?"

"Two, please…those…you haven’t used those for anything…strange, have you?" he asked, eyeing the beakers as he sat down and folded his hands together atop the table.

"Of course not," assured the mortician, "I’m just forever breaking my china when I stumble in here for coffee in the mornings, so I gave up replacing it.  I have a surplus of these."

He poured the tea, dropped the sugar into it and brought the containers over to the table.  He peered at Vincent through his bangs and he felt a little embarrassed for the first time over his choice in tea ware.  “I know that you are more accustomed to elegance, love.  I apologize for the crudeness.”

Vincent waved off the comment.  “I was just making sure there wasn’t some possible residue of some embalming chemical on them.  They are a strange choice for drinking tea from, after all.”

"Understandable concern, young lord," said the reaper.  He took his seat across from the Earl and he sweetened his beverage before getting on to business.  "Now then; as you undoubtedly know already, our friend in my basement met his demise thanks to a cut to the throat.  What the Yard doesn’t know yet is that the guard in question had an interesting letter on his person…"

He paused and he dug an unopened enveloped out of his robes, which he handed over to the young man.  “As you can see, it’s addressed to the Duke of Buckingham.  The guard was trying to warn him in code.  Look the letter over and see for yourself; you’re good at decoding.”

The Earl sipped his tea and took the letter, unfolding its slightly rumpled paper and scanning it with his eyes, letting it sink in before working to decode it—at least to get a rough idea.  It likely would take him more time to do so properly, if the code was created to be tricky.

Undertaker allowed the bright young man some time, and when he saw the way the dark brows furrowed and the expressive brown eyes widened, he knew that he wasn’t alone in his interpretation.  “She’s begun killing off her own, Vincent.”

All thoughts of sex and desire fled him as the mortician thought on the matter.  “I didn’t just arrange this meeting for my own lusty purpose; the Queen is tying up loose ends, and getting rid of folk she thinks might whisper her business to her enemies.”

"But why?" demanded the Earl.  "Her Majesty has only let her most trusted know her secrets—and none knows all, save maybe her personal butler."  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up in thought.  "Someone must be pulling her strings, planting seeds of mistrust."

"Whatever the reason, I think you should be extra careful," advised the Undertaker.  "You and your family have gathered a lot of information about the monarchs over time.  If she thinks for one moment that you might reveal secrets about the royal family, you’ll be next on her list."

"The Yard can’t know, either," said Vincent.  "They’d go snooping where they shouldn’t.  They would be putting their own safety at risk."

Undertaker grimaced.  “Actually, I suspect someone in their ranks is already involved.  While it did present a good excuse to get you here alone with me, I wouldn’t have shared that note with those blokes anyway, for fear it would get back to the wrong person and further endanger you.  If an informant thought you knew of the conspiracy, well…”

He spread his hands, letting the sentence finish itself.

Vincent sighed and shook his head.  “If the Queen is behind this, there isn’t much that can be done.”

Uncommonly protective feelings welled up in the mortician’s breast.  Undertaker wasn’t one to coddle and he knew very well that Vincent could defend himself, but was it enough?  “I’d like to resume our lessons, twice per week.  There are still things that I can teach you and I want you to learn them all.”

"You are really worried that I’ll become a target, aren’t you?" Vincent observed, "even though I’ve only just taken up m father’s title as Earl and the Queen’s Guard Dog."

"To these deviants, your inexperience makes you a more attractive target," explained the mortician.  "The sooner they knock you off, the better.  Your house is in a vulnerable state right now, with you adjusting as the new head of it."

Undertaker sipped his tea and opened the jar of bone-shaped treats on the table.  He took one for himself and he slid the jar toward Vincent in offering.  ”I know you’re a fine swordsman and a witty tactician, but you’re in a transitional period…ripe for the picking.”

"I just don’t understand these rivalries…I never have," sighed Vincent.  "My father made many enemies, and now they are mine.  I’d never wish such a thing on my own son, should I be blessed with one."

"That’s the unfortunate result of being born a noble," sighed Undertaker.  "People think having money makes folk happy, but I tell you, some of the happiest people I’ve met had nary a shilling to their names."

He took a bite of his biscuit and he contemplated the remainder of it as he munched.  “Your sons and daughters are going to have a time of it just like you, sure enough…but if you pass down your knowledge, they’ll have the tools they need to survive…and they’ll have me, even after you…”

He trailed off with a frown, lowering his gaze.  “Well, they’ll always have ‘Uncle Undertaker’, anyhow.”

Vincent looked away with a frown.   _'After I grow old and die, leaving you behind,'_  he mentally finished the statement.  “It must be difficult, living forever.”

"Sometimes," agreed Undertaker.  "It’s not uncommon for my kind to grow so world-weary that they wish to leave it.  Suicide thins our numbers more than starvation, sickness or mortal injuries.  That’s why I do my best to stay entertained, you see."

"Seems depressing, if death itself wishes for death."  Vincent sipped his tea once more and looked up at Undertaker.  "Having little to live for…we humans have such short lives, we have to make the most of it and we aren’t ready for death a lot of the time, but you are the opposite, aren’t you?"

"To a certain point," said Undertaker.  He propped his elbows on the table and he steepled his fingertips together thoughtfully, his smile returning.  "But you know, Vincent, there are still so many wonders to see in this world, even for someone as old as I am.  It’s when you stop looking for them that you’re fucked…er…pardon me."

Vincent froze, blinking at the reaper before starting to laugh.  “Ah, you were always a man with free words, but it still throws me off at times.”

Undertaker shared his laughter, delighting in the sound of it.  Vincent had always had a rich, warm laugh that inspired others to smile when they heard it.  “Happy to entertain you, my lord,” he chuckled when he could speak again.  “You see?  You’re nothing like your peers.  They’d have gone red-faced and sputtering with indignation, had I said that in front of any of them.  Stuffy peacocks!” 

He burst into laughter again.

"Even my father would have," agreed Vincent as he calmed his laughter, though it could still be heard in his voice.  "He was very much for tradition and propriety.  He’d be turning in his grave if he knew the truth about me."

Undertaker nodded, coughing a little as his last mouthful of tea went down the wrong way.  “Indeed, my friend.  He would indeed.  I think your late mother would be proud of you, though.”

He sobered a bit, and he looked at his tea with a sigh.  “Continue with the investigation, and track down the party responsible for the death of that guard…but do not mention a word of what we’ve spoken of today.  I’ll burn the letter I found, and it will stay between us.”

The Earl nodded.  “Were there any clues on the body?”

A bit of cloth and blood under the nails,” answered the mortician.  “I had a closer look under the microscope.  Looked to be lace of some sort, so either the killer is a lady, or a rather fancy-dressed assassin.  Now, I’ve never known a professional assassin to wear frills when trying to sneak up on their prey, unless they use deception to get close to them.  I’ve really got a hunch that you should be looking for a woman, not a man.”

Undertaker took another sip of his tea and he frowned at it.  “I think we could use something stronger than tea.  I’ve a good Port begging to be shared.  Care for some, love?”

"Not much, I am here on business, after all," said the Earl, his mind distracted with the evidence he’d been given.

"Of course," answered the mortician in understanding.  "I won’t be but a moment."

He took his beaker and Vincent’s, and he carried them away to the sink to be washed later.  He rummaged through the cabinets to procure the bottle of Port and the appropriate glasses.  After pouring the drinks, he returned to his guest and offered one of them to him, before sitting down with him.

"Cheers," offered the reaper, holding out his glass.

Vincent smiled and lifted his drink.  “You are a horrible influence on me,” he joked, clinking their glasses together, “drinking before supper.”

"I happen to take great delight in being a horrible influence."  Undertaker grinned broadly and took a swallow of his Port.  "It’s one of my best qualities."

"Just what have I gotten myself into, falling for a man like you?"  The Earl chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink.

"At least I keep things interesting," said Undertaker after taking a swallow.  "I don’t know how you can bear those social gatherings you attend.  I honestly think the most boring people in the world have conspired to breed within the monarchy.  Perhaps you and Lady Rachel will liven up the gene pool, when you have children."

I tolerate them, I don’t bear them.  Personally, I plan to host no more than I absolutely have to.  Nothing like my father had.  Thank you.”  He sipped the port again after his glass was refilled. 

 

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, “not much” ended up becoming “a whole lot”.  As they sat talking, flirting and laughing, they both forgot moderation.  By the time evening fell, they’d drunk the entire bottle of port.  Undertaker regarded it with mild surprise, and he looked at Vincent to see him teetering in his chair.  He jumped up to catch him before he could hit the floor, putting his arms around him to steady him.

"My, my," said the reaper with a sloppy grin.  "It seems we’ve outdone ourselves, my—hic—lord.  You’re in no condition to go any—hic—where now.  Can you stand at all?"

"Iiii can barely s—hic—t."  The Earl grinned up at the reaper holding him.  "But what does that have to do with going anywheres?"  He playfully poked Undertaker’s nose, missing his target once or twice before landing his finger on the tip of it.

Finding his actions adorable, the reaper laughed and hiccupped again.  He rubbed his nose affectionately against the finger pressed against it.  “I think I should get you into bed and call your driver—hic—in the morning.  It’sh a nice, comfy bed.”

"What, you don’ sleep in a coffin, you creepy old man?" teased Vincent with a slur.  "Oh! W’gotta tell T’naka!"

"I do prefer my coffin," said the mortician, "but I have a nice, big bed, too.  Here, I’ll take you to th’ phone…"

Guiding the unsteady monarch on legs that were only a little more stable than his, Undertaker took him back through the hallway and through the curtained entryway.  He half-carried him over to his desk and leaned him up against it, taking the phone off its cradle and handing it to him.  “I’ll dial,” he offered, peering down at the rotary.

"Get th’ right number—hic!" Vincent grinned, taking the offered phone and holding it to his ear.  A moment later, he heard the other end ring a few times and then Tanaka’s voice answered. 

"Tanaka?  I’m calling to say I’ll be home t’morrow, so please don’t—hic—worry about me!"

"Sir, is everything all right?" Asked the butler.  "You’re yelling."

"I’m not yelling!  I swear!" Vincent giggled, and so did Undertaker.  "Just had a drink too—hic—many an’ I’m staying over."

Tanaka sighed.  “Very well, my lord.  Shall I send a carriage for you in the morning?”

"Yes, please.  Thanksh, Tana—hic—ka!"  With the hiccup, he set the phone down and turned to smile at the mortician.  "Business is done!"

Undertaker gave him another sloppy smile.  “Well-hic—done, my Vinny.  Come, let’sh get to bed.”  He put a steadying arm around him, stumbling a bit himself as he guided the other man back toward the curtain.

"Hey, is…Undertaker yer real name?" Vincent asked, leaning against him. 

"Has been for many years," answered the reaper, "since long before you were born.  Here we—hic—are, my love."  He pushed the door to his bedroom open, flicked the lights on and revealed a huge canopy bed with black sheets and pillowcases, and a pink canopy, of all colors.

Undertaker bumped into the wardrobe and swore, nearly losing his balance.  “Like I said, I don’t sleep here often, but I keep it—hic—nice and clean, with fresh bedding.”

"Pink…suits you."  The Earl chuckled, stumbling in and flopping on his back on the bed as he reached up to loosen his ascot.

"It’s—hic—actually my favorite color!"  Undertaker put a finger to his lips.  "Shhh, don’t tell anyone."

He helped the Earl get situated and helped him get his shoes off.  “There,” he said with a smile as he lifted his legs onto the bed and positioned him so that he was lying on his back.  He started to climb in with him, but he tripped on his own feet and ended up sprawled sideways over Vincent’s legs.  He tried to get up and failed, his hat falling off his head and rolling off the bed, onto the floor.  Vincent was already passed out.

"Maybe I’ll just—hic—sleep here, then."

Undertaker folded his arms and pillowed his cheek on them, soon joining his guest in drunken slumber.

 

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Vincent moaned and rolled over—or attempted to do so as his legs stayed put and he became aware of a weight laying across them. confused and annoyed, he opened his eyes and sat up, cradling his head as the effects of a hangover also made itself known. It was not a good morning.

  
With a sigh, he looked down at his legs, finding Undertaker laying across them, fast asleep. A trail of drool soaking the blankets under his cheek.  
  
What?  
  
He looked around, realizing he was not at home…what had happened last night? Had he actually drank that much?  
  
"Hey…" Vincent nudged the reaper’s shoulder, "Wake up."

Undertaker came awake with a groan, just as disoriented as his companion. He wiped the drool away and looked around, wondering how Earl Phantomhive ended up in his bed. Fuzzy memories from the night before came back to him, and he grinned despite the pain in his poor head. They obviously didn’t have sexual relations…which was a good thing. He wanted to remember every moment of it, when it happened.  
  
"Morning, Vincent." He sat up and stretched. "We really tied one in, didn’t we? How’s your noggin feeling?"

"Like I got trampled by a horse or two…" he groaned, pulling his legs up to his chest and rubbing his tingling calves and thighs, "Did you sleep like that all night?"

Undertaker dragged his hair out of his eyes and shrugged. “Probably.” He tossed a toothy grin at the Earl and winked. “I sleep like the dead, you know.”

"You made my legs  _feel_  like the dead.” Vincent shrugged, then sighed and leaned forward, pressing their lips together—still tasting residue of the port on them.

Undertaker kissed him back, hardly minding the lingering scent and flavor. His hangover, however, sufficiently muffled his lust, the throbbing in his head overpowering his libido. “Your carriage should be here soon,” he murmured. “Care for some ginger water to rinse the aftertaste out, followed by some coffee?”

"Please." The young man nodded, moving to stand and holding his pounding head, "No more drinking port so early in the day for us, though…this isn’t pleasant…"

The ancient reaper laughed…and immediately regretted it. “Oh, my poor old head,” he complained, putting a hand to his forehead. “You’d think I’d build up a tolerance, as long as I’ve been alive. I honestly don’t imbibe that heavily very often, though.”  
  
He got off the bed and offered a hand to the young man. “Come, my lord. Refreshment awaits.”

The Earl nodded, taking his hand and moving to lean against him as they walked to the kitchen together.

"Here we are, my dear," said the reaper as he pulled out a chair at the table for the young man. "Just have a seat and relax, while I pour the ginger water and set the kettle to brewing."  
  
Despite his pounding headache, he whistled a soft tune as he worked. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten down his pants to claim his perfect ass, but waking up with Vincent in his bed had been a treat. “I hope you don’t mind your coffee black, Earl. I plan to go to the market today for groceries, but until then I’ve no cream or milk.”

"While my taste buds would protest, it would help my head." Vincent said, leaning back in the chair, tempted to curl up and go back to sleep if only to escape the pounding in his brain. "Uhhg, I always forget I hate drinking until after I start drinking and it’s too late to go back…"

"It does have a tendency to sneak up on a fellow that way," agreed the mortician. He finished pouring the infused water and he brought Vincent’s beaker over to him. "Here, this ought to settle your stomach a bit, too." He sipped his own water as he went back over to the hearth and warmed the coals to boil the pot.  
  
"On the matter of the killer," he called out, remembering what had led to their binge in the first place, "I’d probably start with finding out which brothels our fine, dead friend might have frequented, and ask around if he had any recent, new lady friends. Just watch your back while you’re investigating it and even if you think you’re onto something, don’t make it obvious. All we need is for you to get a dagger in the back because someone knows you’re getting too close to the truth."

"Brothels?" Vincent frowned and sighed, "You’re right, of course, but…" he shivered. He had no desire to go to such a place—even on an investigation.

The mortician understood Vincent’s hesitation. “You don’t have to go in yourself, of course. All you need do is find out which—if any—brothels Officer Tully may have visited before his demise and should your inquiries lead you to one, send in one of your servants to inquire which whores he favored.”  
  
He thought about what he just said and he frowned into his beaker as he sipped more of his ginger water. “Or if you’re worried that in itself might lead back to you, I suppose I could do it for you. We can’t have your fiancé finding out you visited a…er…gentlemen’s club, can we? Nor would it look good if word got back to her that you sent one of your people in there asking about the merchandise.”  
  
He shrugged. “My reputation is already spotty at best, so use me if you must. You may not even have to, but you mustn’t rule out the possibility. Could be that young fellow just met a lady and started getting cozy with her.”

"I’m not sure I like the idea of you walking into one, either, though," Vincent sighed, "But that is for a bit more selfish reasons."

Undertaker chuckled and rubbed his foot against Vincent’s playfully beneath the table.  “Afraid your consort might find one of the ladies of the night a bit too much to his liking, my lord?”

The Earl flushed, “I know I am in no position to have such jealous feelings for the subject, as I shall be wed to Rachel soon enough, but…” he gave a small nod.

The reaper’s smile softened, and he got out of his chair to approach Vincent and cup his chin, guiding his head back to look up at him.  “I’ve no interest in any strumpets, courtesans, ladies or queens.  For that matter, no other men can hold a candle to you.  What’s a cheap thrill with someone I barely know, compared to the pleasures you bring with every laugh, every smile and every kiss?  The rest of the world can have them.  I’ve got my Earl, and he’s what I want now.”

The reaper bent over Vincent to kiss him, sealing the promise with his lips. 

"You spoil me, old man." he teased playfully against his lips. "I’ll keep you updated on my investigations."

"You do that," agreed the reaper, stroking Vincent’s soft, blue-black hair, "and I’ll be sure to keep you informed of any new developments I discover on my end.  Just keep yourself safe, is all I ask."

Vincent nodded, “I have also been working on my aim with my handgun. missing the night i was attacked had increased the danger for me. the bullet wounds were from Tanaka…” he reached up and brushed the bangs away from one of the reaper’s eyes, “I promise I won’t make it easy to target me.”

Undertaker smiled.  “Good.” 

The kettle started to whistle as it reached heating capacity, and he excused himself to prepare the coffee.  “It has a bite,” he warned when he returned with two new beakers full of the rich brown drink.  He retrieved the sugar cubes and set them on the table for Vincent to sweeten his beverage as desired, and he sat back down to plop four in for himself. 

"Ahh, that’s…horrible," he said with a grimace at the drink after taking a sip, "I’ll have to look into another distributor…but it does the trick."

Vincent nearly gagged at the taste, “Dear God, I hope you just got bad beans!” he washed out the taste with the ginger water.

"They came from a strong crop," insisted the reaper. "Be a man!" He laughed in spite of himself and it was quickly followed by another grimace as he sipped more of the bitter brew.  
  
"Ugh, it’s rotgut for certain," he admitted.

"I wouldn’t wish this on my enemies!" Vincent laughed.

Undertaker began to laugh as well.  “Sip and chase, sip and chase…like whiskey.”  He took another swallow of the horrible coffee, made a face, and chased it with the ginger water.  “We’re going to need more ginger,” he predicted, coughing.

Vincent nodded, “Tea’s better anyhow…next time maybe I’ll bring over something that tastes much better.”

"Please, feel free."

Undertaker was about to add something else, but the pull bell outside his shop rang at that moment, and there was the sound of someone knocking at the door.  Figuring it could be the Yard or another body delivery as easily as it could be Vincent’s ride, he got up and excused himself.  “I’ll just go and check on that, love.  I’ll retrieve your hat and cane while I’m in there and I’ll let you know if it’s your coachman.”

"Thank you." Vincent set down his beaker of coffee and pecked the reaper on the cheek as he pulled away.

Undertaker was a bit disappointed to find that it was indeed the Phantomhive coachman at the door. He let him in with a little sigh, but his grin was as bright as ever as he greeted him. “Have a seat, lad. I’ll bring him out in a moment.”  
  
He fetched Vincent’s hat and cane for him and he returned to the back and made his way into the kitchen to give them back to him. “Unfortunately, that’s your man come a’calling.” He bent over to give the Earl a last, lingering kiss on the lips. “I’ll go fetch your shoes and stockings, my lord.”

The Earl combed his fingers through his hair to tame it before placing his hat atop his head, “Thank you, Undertaker.” he smiled and nodded, moving back into his professional tone.  Undertaker returned with said items and helped him put them on, before escorting him out of his living quarters.

"You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?" Undertaker reiterated, though they had already agreed to collaborate closely during this case. He walked him through the curtain and to the door, where the coachman waited. The young man gave the Earl a respectful, elegant bow and held the door open for him.

"Yes, you can expect to hear from me again soon. Thank you for your help." the Earl tipped his hat before walking out with his driver, climbing into the carriage.

Undertaker watched him go with a quiet sigh. With each day, he grew more attached to the young monarch…but he no longer fought against it. He’d loved and lost before, after all. A little voice inside his head asked him if he could bear to lose  _this_  one, though.

 

 

* * *

 

Vincent hid a yawn behind his hand and he stretched. He’d spent hours going over his notes from his investigation. He, of course, had shared with the Yard as he went—when they asked. but they proved little help, rushing off on their own ‘leads’—Dead ends, all of them. Brothels had been one of those dead ends, and he was glad for it. but it was high time he talked to Undertaker again. Well, he wanted to, at least. He had Tanaka call for the reaper, and was waiting in his study. He got up and stood at the window, looking out over his estate.

 

 

* * *

 

"Undertaker, you kill ‘em, we bury ‘em," came the gruff answer after a few rings.  It wasn’t the reaper’s usual phone greeting.  His voice sounded…exasperated. 

Tanaka blinked, “It seems I have caught you in a mood, Master Undertaker. Is this a bad time?”

The reaper blushed deeply, horribly embarrassed and thankful that the man couldn’t see his face. “Oh dear, pardon me, Mr. Tanaka. I’ve…I’ve suffered some crank calls of late. How can I help you?”

"Ah, I see. The Earl wishes for your council on the investigation he’d been tasked." the old butler said.

"Oh…ah, right."  Undertaker thought his face might catch on fire, and his heart skipped a beat annoyingly at the thought of seeing Vincent again, though it had only been a few days.  "In that case, tell him I’ll be at the estate directly."

"Very well, sir." Tanaka said and hung up, moving to tell the young earl that he was on his way.

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was shown into the Earl’s study as soon as he arrived, and he gave Vincent his typical broad smile of greeting.  He removed his hat and he bowed.  “You rang, Earl?”

When the door shut behind him, he loomed in without warning over Vincent’s desk, inadvertently giving him a start.  “Find anything, my dear?”

"No real leads." he shook his head, smiling at the reaper, "No brothels either." he stood up and reached out, running his fingers through the other’s hair.

Undertaker nodded, his eyes becoming heavy-lidded with pleasure as the young man’s fingers combed through his hair.  “These things take time, my lord.  Mmm, that feels nice.”

Vincent smiled and continued the action, “Would you stay for dinner?” he asked. Yes, he’d used the excuse of business to get the reaper there, but nothing stopped them from enjoying the time together—or prolonging it. “I can share the details of the case with you then.”

"Who am I to decline such a charming and tempting invitation?" said Undertaker, his eyes closing completely with bliss as the combing continued.  "What are we having?"

"I’m not even sure." Vincent laughed, "I let the cooks choose—usually. They never let me down, though. It’s always delicious."

"That’s good enough for me," said Undertaker with a nod.  "Good food of any sort is one of my favorite pleasures in life."  He nudged Vincent’s hand like a demanding cat when it went still.  "Keep petting me, love.  I like that."

Vincent laughed softly and continued, “Seems I’ve gone and got myself a rather large cat.”

Undertaker removed his top hat and he shamelessly draped himself over the desk and purred, smiling.  “Thinking about sending me away to the pound?”

"Why would I do that?" he smirked, leaning over him and pressing his lips to the reaper’s.

Undertaker grinned, his lips curving against the Earl’s.  “I can be a troublesome kitty, I admit.  I’m a bit demanding at times, and I occasionally like to scratch.”  He reached out to drag his long, black nails over Vincent’s shoulder and down his arm, to the elbow.  “But I don’t do much damage.  Whatever you do, though, don’t neuter me.”

"Now why would I even think of doing that?" he smirked, running his hand down along the reaper’s side, settling it on his hip.

Undertaker shifted gracefully on the table, covertly squirming down a bit to make other parts of his body more accessible.  “It would be detrimental to your own interests, I agree.”

"Very much so, " the Earl hummed in agreement, hovering over him on the desk, pinning him down as he half-way got atop the reaper.

Undertaker purred again, enjoying the feel of Vincent’s body covering his.  He ran his hands over his back and his bottom, giving the latter a little squeeze.  ”I do so enjoy the feel of you, Vincent.” 

He reached up to cup the back of the young man’s head, and he pulled it down for a kiss. 

"And I, you." he whispered as their lips connected, "Mmmh…"

Just as Undertaker slipped his tongue into his mouth, their interactions were interrupted by the sound of Tanaka knocking on the door.  “Pardon me, my lord, but dinner is served,” he called out.

Undertaker sighed, wondering if he was doomed to be cock-blocked.  “Well, I suppose we’d best get to the dining hall, before the servants start to wonder.”

Vincent was just as annoyed, sighing as he straitened up, fixing his suit. “I guess play time is over.”

"For now," agreed the mortician.  He grinned mischievously as he got up and hopped off the table, and he reached behind Vincent to pinch his bottom.  He leaned close to the Earl and offered a low, soft suggestion.  "I could always return after lights’ out and scale the walls to your bedroom, my dear."

"As long as I know it is you." Vincent said in reminder that the assassin had also gotten in through his bedroom window.

Undertaker chuckled softly.  “Now, that would be some interesting coincidence for an assassin to make another attempt on your life on the same night I plan to sneak in and…deflower you.”  He pulled the Earl close.  “Not that I think I’ll be your first, of course.  When it comes to you and I, however, this will be a new experience for both of us.”

Vincent blushed a deep red, “I doubt I’m the first human you have had.”

Undertaker smirked, but then a painful thought came to him.   _~Nor are you likely to be the last.~_  

He looked away, disliking the reminder of how temporary Vincent’s role in his life was going to be.  “I’ve had my share, no doubt.”  He looked at him again, and he smiled.  “But none are likely to hold a candle to you, love.  There’s a passion in you that makes me wonder if I’ll be able to keep up.”

"We’ll have to see…" Vincent grinned, walking to the door, "Tonight, maybe?"

Undertaker nodded as he followed along behind him.  “Indeed, my lord.  I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They went to the expansive dining room and sat down at the long table together to be served dinner; with Vincent at the head of it and Undertaker sitting in the seat beside his.  The maid poured them both a glass of white wine and brought out dinner rolls and salads as appetizers, while they waited for the entree to be plated up.

"So you said you had details to impart to me?" asked the reaper between bites.  He gave his hat over to the maid when she asked for it, and he buttered his roll.

"Some, but not much." he nodded.

"Some is better than none at all," said the mortician. "Have you been able to determine if the suspect is a woman, as I suspected?"

The earl nodded, “I’m convinced. Scotland Yard is not. They are convinced a woman wouldn’t be capable, but the evidence supports it.”

"The Yard is a cesspool of idiots," said the reaper in derision. "It’s really no wonder her royal hiney turns to your family when she needs something done right. Pity she could wind up turning on you if she finds out you know more than she wants you to, though."  
  
The entrees arrived and Undertaker sniffed with appreciation as the lemon-butter glazed fish and steamed broccoli was set down before him. “Ah, this looks promising.” He picked up his dinner fork and dug in.

"I’m glad you approve." The earl smiled, picking up his own fork, "I got a name—sort of. Somehow, I think an ‘Emily’ is involved, but there is no surname."

Undertaker swallowed the bite of fish he was chewing on and he wiped his mouth with the napkin as he nodded.  “Emily, eh?  That’s a pretty name.  I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you and seek out any information I can about potential assassins using that name.  People would be truly shocked to learn how many females are in the business, I think.  It’s easier for them to get away with it because idiots like the Yard are still deluding themselves into thinking the fairer sex is weaker.  Frankly, I think women are  _far_  more dangerous than men, and not just because society underestimates their gender.  The ladies can be downright ruthless, and it’s harder to tell where you stand with them.  They’re adept at hiding their thoughts, my lord.  It’s what they’re taught to do, their entire lives.”

"A frightful thought." He sighed, "But still. the law is the same for both genders, and she broke it."

Undertaker took a sip of wine and nodded.  “Indeed.  While I’m not a fan of violence against the ladies, you keep in mind that this woman is a killer, when you close in on her.  Don’t let chivalry stop you from pulling the trigger if she forces your hand, Earl.”

"She is not on the same level as the women I know. Killers and assassins are all on their own level." he reassured the reaper, "Don’t worry. I won’t be bested by a woman without a fight."

Undertaker smirked.  “That’s good to know.  Too many men allow a pretty face and long legs to render them stupid.  You’re a cut above the rest, though.”

He resumed eating, pleased that his Earl took the danger seriously.  Vincent was a compassionate young man, but he was also quite brilliant.  Those qualities might occasionally conflict with each other, but the reaper trusted him to take care of himself…though he still wanted to continue training him to use every means available to ensure his survival.  On that note, he recalled the agreement he’d made with him.

"Don’t forget that we have tutoring dates," he reminded.  "Wednesdays and Saturdays, each week.  If you fail to show for them, I’ll spank you good and proper."

The maid gasped and giggled behind her hand, hastily excusing herself.

Vincent’s cheeks darkened to a bright red, “Such wording at the dinner table…”

Undertaker spread his hands, his fork held deftly between the first two fingers of his left hand.  ”I was speaking figuratively!”  He glanced around and seeing that nobody was nearby, he winked.  “At least as far as  _they_  know.  Arrive on time for our lessons and you won’t need to find out if I’m kidding or not.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow, “I may have to test it.” he said simply, cutting into his fish and taking a bite.

Undertaker gave him a surprised look. “Oh my…you’ve got a naughty side, my lord.”

"I was raised to be a gentleman," he stated, "Not a lady."

The reaper laughed in delight, clapping his hands.  “Well said, my lord.  You might want to check that hypocrisy meter, however.  It’s getting rather full.”  He smirked.  “Just a moment ago you were scolding me for  _my_  naughty talk.”

"A moment ago there had been a servant in the room laying witness to what was being said." he pointed out.

"Didn’t seem like she minded," countered the mortician with a lecherous smile.  He finished off the last of his meal and he washed it down with more wine.  "I daresay the young lady may go to bed with visions in her head of her lord being spanked on his bare ass by yours truly."

"Do you always take pleasure in corrupting the minds of innocent maids with such mental imagery?"

The reaper snickered behind his hand. “Fufufu…is that really a question you need to be asking me, Earl?”

"No, but I asked it nonetheless." he smirked.

Undertaker sucked his teeth in thought, and he playfully rubbed his booted foot against the Earl’s beneath the table. “As a matter of fact, I do get some satisfaction out of knowing a pretty little thing like that might be fantasizing about watching me swat your bottom ‘till it’s blushing, and then proceed to fuck you blind.”  
  
He shrugged and he finished off his wine with a smirk. “But that’s just me.”

The Earl coughed, “You, sir, threaten to turn my face into a tomato permanently!”

Undertaker laughed, and the maid came back in wheeling a dessert cart, blushing beneath her freckles.  “I’ll just take those plates away if you’re finished, m’lord,” she said.  “Begging your pardon.”

"No need for pardons, love," Undertaker said with a grin.  "I was just turning your employer into a tomato."

She looked at him with confusion, then she looked at Vincent.  Ducking her head, she collected the plates and replaced them with a slice of white, sweet-frosted cake for both of them.  “As you say, sir.”

She left quickly after refilling their wine glasses, her face about as red as Vincent’s.  Undertaker grinned after her and he waggled his eyebrows at the Earl.  “Something I said?”

"It’s always something you say." Vincent responded, nodding in thanks to the maid, "Please do forgive us, Miss Mary, the conversation reared off topic in the most inappropriate way."

"Yes, do forgive us," Undertaker agreed.  "My old head veers off in strange directions, at times."  He smiled at her and the shy little smile she gave in return before leaving left little doubt that she didn’t consider him an old man at all. 

Undertaker looked at Vincent again when she was gone.  “She likes me.”

"Are you attempting to make me jealous, Undertaker?"

The mortician grinned.  “Am I?  Making you jealous, that is.”

"You didn’t answer the question." he said simply, taking a bite of his dessert.

The mortician shrugged.  “Maybe I was fishing a bit for a reaction.  I do like to make the ladies blush, though.”

"Well, you succeeded in both." Vincent smiled.

Undertaker chuckled, enjoying the banter.  He held up his wine glass. “To your health, Earl.”

Vincent raised his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

 

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

After dinner, Undertaker bid the Earl good evening and he left the manor—only to return again on the stroke of midnight.  He was nervous, and he didn’t quite understand why.  After all, he’d had his share of tumbles with both reapers and mortals in his day.  It might have been a long time since his last lover, but everything still worked just as good and if anything, he had more experience under his belt now than ever before.  He should have been confident.  Vincent wanted him.  He knew how to pleasure a man—or a woman, for that matter.  Still, the nagging anxiety dogged at his steps as he approached the looming manor without a whisper of sound. 

Perhaps Vincent had already fallen asleep.  What if he changed his mind?  What if he was revolted by the scars marring Undertaker’s skin, all over his body?  He didn’t seem to mind the ones on his face, neck and finger, but the marks of past battles were everywhere, striping his pale skin from torso to toes.  Surely, Vincent must have guessed as much, but what if he hadn’t?  What would his reaction be, when he saw how world-ravaged the mortician really was, beneath his robes?  Most of his past lovers found the marks to be exotic, or even sexy, in some cases.  He prayed to death that the Earl would share their attitude.

Undertaker reasoned that if the sight of scars hadn’t driven Vincent away by now, they weren’t likely to do so tonight.  Telling himself to pull it together and stop fretting over something that hadn’t even happened yet, the reaper cloaked himself from mortal view and crossed the lawn to the manor.  He began to scale the wall with macabre ease, hopping from one windowsill to the other as he ascended.  When he reached the lord of the manor’s bedroom window, he was so startled to find it open with Vincent standing there looking out that he very nearly fell off.

"Merciful death, you gave me a start," gasped the mortician; only to realize that Vincent could neither see nor hear him while he was still cloaked.  A mischievous smile tugged at his lips, and he dropped his supernatural concealment, appearing to materialize before the young man’s eyes.

"Boo."

Vincent gasped and stumbled back, tripping over his feet and sending himself sprawling across the floor. “Good Lord, Undertaker!” he gasped, keeping his voice low, “Was that necessary?”

The mortician snickered and stepped through the window, absently brushing off his garments before removing his top hat.  “Sorry, love…couldn’t resist.  If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t expecting you to be right there in my face when I made it to your window.  I damned near fell off.”

"If you hadn’t been transparent I would have seen you and moved out of the way." Vincent said, standing up and brushing off his silk pajamas before smiling and moving up to the reaper, slipping his arms around him and pressing their lips together, "Thank you for not standing me up this time."

"Mfph pwffurf," mumbled the reaper into the kiss, and then he returned the human’s embrace, backing him toward the bed impulsively.  His tongue caressed and stroked against Vincent’s, and he cupped his bottom and pulled him tighter against him, quickly arriving to a state of need.  He couldn’t get over how confident and passionate the Earl was, when given the chance to express himself.

Vincent let them fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, kissing passionately as their hands roamed freely. The Earl closed his eyes, breathing in the reaper’s scent. He was nervous—of course he was. While he was no virgin, and he’d taken male lovers before in his later years at school, this was his first time with Undertaker—a reaper as old as time. One that most likely knew more about sex than he could ever hope to know. But he was still an Earl. He’d not show his insecurities. after all, he did want this.

It took Vincent several long moments to remove the reaper’s layers, but finally they fell open, exposing his pale, scarred flesh. He pulled away slightly, taking in the sight and running his fingers along one rather prominent scar, saying nothing as he wondered what sort of battles the man had faced to gain so many.

Undertaker held still as the mortal explored his scars, holding his breath without even realizing it.  He gazed down at him questioningly, his long, shiny hair falling around them both like a veil.  “Do they trouble you?”

Vincent shook his head, “There is more than I had thought there would be…” he whispered.

Undertaker stroked a hand over Vincent’s flat stomach, feeling the smooth unmarred skin.  “Yes, my body is riddled with them.  It takes a lot to leave lasting scars on a reaper.” 

"Are you ashamed of them? you held your breath when I saw them."

"Noticed that, did you?"  Undertaker smirked ruefully.  "You’ve grown more perceptive.  No, I’m not ashamed of my scars…but I was a little concerned that you might find them unsightly.  I never much cared what others thought about them, until now."

"Do you think me that shallow?" Vincent asked, propping himself up, "I mean, Okay, I have slept around purely for pleasure…and in a way this is too…we can’t be wed and we can’t have children so of course this is for pleasure. But I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t feel something for you. Scars…I won’t look at them if you feel uneasy about them, but they are a part of you."

The mortician’s smile returned. “I don’t want you to avoid looking at any part of me, Earl. If they don’t bother you, then I’m satisfied.”  
  
He lowered his mouth to Vincent’s and he kissed him deeply, relieved. He pushed the young lord’s arms up over his head, so that he could tug the long silk nightshirt up and off. His grin broadened when he found that Vincent was quite nude, beneath the garment. “Oh, I approve of this,” he purred, sitting up to take in the sight of him. “Lie still, my dear. I want to look at and touch every inch of you.”

"I can’t promise ‘still’." Vincent smirked, relaxing into the covers. "I can promise you, however, that you may touch as you please."

"Fair enough, for now," agreed the reaper. Actually, seeing him squirm was a goal of his. He allowed his gaze to feast on the supine, masculine form, taking in the swimmer’s build. He ran his hands over the tight abdominal muscles, then the pectorals. He brushed his thumbs over the rosy nipples, making them tighten up and drawing a sigh of pleasure from Vincent. He settled his knees between the Earl’s thighs and he nudged them apart, before dragging his hands down his torso again to stroke his hips, then his strong thighs.  
  
"Quite the fine specimen of man you are," complimented the reaper huskily. He guided Vincent to bend his knees, so that his inner thighs were resting against his hips. His arousal throbbed as he let his gaze dip lower, to the dark thatch of hair framing Vincent’s family jewels. "Yes, very fine indeed," said Undertaker with a lusty smile. He slid his hands around to the young man’s inner thighs, slowly gliding them up toward his groin while he looked him in the eyes.

Vincent moaned, shivering under the light caresses moving over his body. In all the partners he’d taken to bed—none of them had treated him in such a way. they had always gotten right down to business. It was normal for him, but now it seemed different—like the others had simply used his body. Undertaker…he was almost worshiping it.

Undertaker delighted in the sound of Vincent’s pleasure. He took his time, though he ached to get on with it. He was quite determined to make his claim on the Earl so thoroughly that he would be spoiled for other men. He dragged his nails lightly over Vincent’s skin, and he traced the lines of his pelvis sensually. He came very close to touching his groin; even going so far as to circling the base of his shaft with his fingertips, but he procrastinated touching it directly, just yet.  
  
He put his hands down on either side of Vincent’s waist for balance as he leaned forward, letting his pale hair drag over the young man’s chest and stomach on a caressing manner. “Does your body taste as delightful as it looks and feels, my lord? I think I’ll find out.”  
  
He lowered his mouth to Vincent’s chest, and he brushed his lips over the skin. He pressed light kisses there, his breath ghosting over the surface of it. He followed up with a slow, leisurely lick, leaving a glistening trail of dampness in his wake.  
  
"Mmm, you do taste nice, love."

"Ahh-nhh…!" The earl moaned, his body slowly shifting into each touch and caress, "B-better watch it—this may just go to my head…" he breathed, gripping the bedding under him as he resisted his urge to move more than he already was. to touch the reaper in the same ways…

The reaper chuckled, the sound humming in his throat as he continued to caress and kiss Vincent’s body with lazy exploration. “I doubt that,” he purred reassuringly. “You aren’t the sort of man to allow ego to rule you, Vincent.”  
  
He flipped the Earl over smoothly, with no warning, and he proceeded to give his backside the same treatment as his front. He traced the line of his spine, appreciating the symmetry of muscles in his back and shoulders. There wasn’t a bit of him that Undertaker didn’t find appealing.

"Hnn—But still…you are enjoying my body more than anyone ever has…"

The comment gave the reaper pause. “Has no-one taken the time to explore you this way, Vincent?”  
  
He ran his nails over the Earl’s shoulders and down his back in a gentle, sensual glide.

The young Earl shook his head, blushing, “Most barely took the time for proper preparation…” he looked over his shoulder, glancing at the reaper’s hands—or rather, his nails. “…Those are going to hurt…”

Undertaker glanced down, and he shook his head. “Not a worry, love. See?”  
  
He held one hand up and retracted the nails, until they were no longer than Vincent’s. He smirked at him. “One of my many talents, my lord. Many reapers can alter their outward appearance in some way or another; change their hair color or length, make their eyes appear a different color, or in my case, retract my nails.”  
  
He resumed his loving attentions, now kneading the muscles with long, attentive fingers to massage the tension out. “I think it’s a travesty that none of your previous lovers took the time to make proper love to you,” he purred. “That’s not to say I can’t or won’t get a bit rough at times…”  
  
He smacked Vincent’s smooth, tight bottom to demonstrate, and he grinned when the Earl’s breath caught. “But I’ll never leave you wanting, and I’ll never take you without full preparation, first.”  
  
He rubbed the cheek he’d smacked soothingly, comforting the sting he’d caused.

"R-retractable nails…you really are a cat…" Vincent murmured into the sheets, moaning as the slightest hue of pink formed on his slapped cheek.

"I promise not to sharpen my nails on you, or your nice furniture," chuckled Undertaker. He leaned over the young man again, balancing himself with one hand as he trailed kisses over the broad shoulders and toned back. He covertly reached into his crumpled, discarded garments for the vial of oil he’d brought for lubricant as he worked his way down Vincent’s back.

Vincent hummed, his muscles flexing as he shifted again, licking his lips and waiting for a chance to taste the reaper.

An idea came to Undertaker as he ran his hands possessively over Vincent’s buttocks and thighs, and he grinned. He stretched out beside him and rolled onto his back, uncorking the vial he’d brought. He dribbled some over his fingers and he beckoned the Earl with a seductive smile.  
  
"Your turn, love. I’ll make good use of this while you have your way for a while."

Vincent didn’t need to be told twice, quickly pushing himself up and moving to straddle his lover, hands caressing over the reaper’s pale, scared torso, following his muscles. He leaned over, pressing his lips along his collarbone, kissing, suckling, even a few light nips.

Undertaker closed his eyes and enjoyed the loving attention with a sigh.  He slipped the hand with the oiled fingers between Vincent’s parted thighs and behind his groin, cupping his balls briefly in his palm in passing.  He smirked when he gasped, and he gently entered him with one finger.  It glided in easily thanks to the oil, but it was snug—as expected.  The Earl’s last sexual encounter with a man must not have been very recently…or he was naturally tight.  Undertaker’s arousal twitched as he imagined what it would feel like to sink into that heat with it, and he groaned softly.

Vincent didn’t stop his own task, though small moans feathered across Undertaker’s skin. A hand wandered lower, fingertips brushing over the other’s length before taking it in his hand, getting a feel for his size as he stroked it. His face was quickly painted red. He could already tell without looking that the reaper was bigger than he’s had before. “Ah!”

Undertaker paused his gentle thrusting, looking up at the Earl’s blushing face inquisitively.  “What’s the matter?  Is it funny looking to you?”

He looked down at his erection—still gripped in Vincent’s hand, wondering what had startled him so.  It still looked the same as ever to him; no different from a human cock, really.

"I-it’s big…" Vincent whispered.

Undertaker relaxed, fighting back a grin.  “Is that all?  You gave me a fright for a moment, my dear.  I thought there might be a spider on it, the way you reacted.”

He placed his free hand over the Earl’s and he gently guided it up and down his length, making a low sound of pleasure as the gripping hand slid over his rigid flesh.  “Maybe it’s bigger than what you’re used to, but it won’t bite.  Promise.”  He resumed exercising his entrance, pushing his finger in again before slowly withdrawing it. 

"Especially if you’re nice to it."  He winked at him.

The earl blushed a darker shade, moving to grip both their lengths together before he continued to stroke. “I was just surprised, is all…you’re bigger than the German.”

He hadn’t the foggiest who this German was that he spoke of, but Undertaker supposed he must have been on the endowed side himself, for Vincent to draw comparisons. He’d intended to fondle the Earl’s jutting length himself, but this was far better to him.  
  
He pushed into Vincent’s grip, leaving his hand covering his as he began to steadily pump his finger inside of him. “Very nice, love, he complimented huskily.

The Earl moaned, stroking their lengths a little faster as he leaned in, covering the reaper’s lips with his own.  Undertaker returned the kiss, his tongue dancing against Vincent’s as they pleasured each other.  Oh yes, this was far better than his last encounter.  Though it had been quite a while, he remembered clearly how it felt in comparison to the chemistry between himself and this young man rocking on top of him.  He felt like Vincent truly belonged with him, like he would be completing him when they consummated their love in the final act.  Poetic nonsense, probably, but the reaper was so enamored already with his mortal lover that he just couldn’t seem to shake that impression.

"Blessed Styx, you feel good," he gasped between kisses, his groin throbbing in the gripping hand.  "If I’m not careful, I could arrive too soon." 

"You had better not!" Vincent hummed, "I’ve been looking forward to feeling you inside me all evening!"

That simple statement of fact sent a thrill through Undertaker that almost made his expressed concern a reality.  He grunted softly and he made Vincent stop, gently disengaging his erection from the young man’s grip.  “Sorry love, but little Undertaker’s getting a bit too excited.” 

He closed the Earl’s hand around his own erection again, smiling up at him with heaving breath as he resumed guiding him.  There was something undeniably sexy about watching Vincent masturbate—especially with his hand guiding the motions of it.  “I’ll let you play as much as you want, after I’ve had you,” he vowed, and he slipped a second finger into Vincent’s slowly relaxing entrance.  “You’re far too delectable for your own good.”

"Ahh-mmh…" the Earl moaned out, his eyes hooded as he worked at pumping himself, feeling the two digits scissoring and stretching him out, slowly readying him for the promise of more. "W-Will I be aloud to touch during?"

"Of course, my dear," assured the mortician, "and you can touch other parts of me all you want now…just avoid the goods beneath the waist."

He wasn’t normally quite this excitable in bed, but he’d been wanting this so badly since the night he ravished Vincent’s mouth beneath the mistletoe.  Funny how quickly a single kiss could turn fond feelings of affection—and yes, attraction—into a need so great he could barely keep his head together.  Undertaker was a shrewd man, normally adept at hiding his true feelings behind laughter and drooling smiles…but that was all an act.  Here tonight in Vincent’s bed, the mad old funeral director was gone.  Tonight, he was himself; a reaper about to claim his mortal lover, who just so happened to be one of the only two humans alive that knew the truth about who and what he really was underneath the mask he wore each day.

"Kiss me again, Vincent," he demanded after watching those tempting lips gasping and moaning for several moments.  His hands were too busy to draw the Earl’s head down again for his desires, so he relied on verbal command.

Vincent abandoned his length quickly, leaning forward with a sense of need and obedience, holding Undertaker’s face between his palms as his lips found the other’s, moving hungrily against them.

Undertaker drank in the elixir of his lips, and he curled his hand around the girth of Vincent’s erection to resume stroking it.  He smiled into the kiss when another moan surfaced, muffled by his mouth.  He began to unconsciously flex his hips beneath his straddling lover, unable to resist rubbing against him as he thrust his tongue into his mouth enthusiastically, his fingers pumping harder inside of him, stroking the internal gland in passing.

"Mmm!" His moans growing louder, Vincent ran his hands down Undertaker’s neck and shoulders, resuming his exploration of his body. "G-God in Heaven…" he moaned into his lips. It felt so damned good…and it was still only foreplay!

"Are you calling out to the almighty, or comparing me to him?" teased the reaper.  He’d always wondered why mortals were so prone to shouting litanies to the divine.  God really had nothing to do with what he was doing to him—save for designing his body to take such pleasure from the act.

"Wh-What?" Vincent panted, lifting his head to look at the reaper.

"Nothing," said Undertaker, not wanting to spoil the encounter with religious discussion.  "It isn’t important."

He thought Vincent was nearly ready for him, but he wanted to stretch him a little more to be certain.  Pain was the last thing he wanted to give the Earl.  He stroked a thumb over the tip of Vincent’s sex, smearing the drop of clear fluid that had beaded there.  “You really are gorgeous, Earl.”

"There you go again…trying to get your words to go to my head. You’re the beautiful one…"

Undertaker laughed sensually, the sound very different from the cackle of the madman he tended to emit when playing the role of the mortician.  “We could spend the whole night arguing over who’s the fairest.”  He eased his fingers out of Vincent and reached for the oil to lubricate his shaft.  When he finished, he positioned himself and he stared up at the other man as he placed one hand on Vincent’s hip and lifted his pelvis to enter him.  “I can think of better things to do, my lord,” he purred, slipping the head of his arousal inside of him.

Any response the earl had was lost and replaced with the sound of a gasping moan. he straitened, head falling back. It had been so long since his last sexual encounter. He’d still been in school, pinned under another student in his year. He’d almost forgotten how good it actually felt.  
  
Biting his lip, he slowly lowered himself onto the reaper’s shaft.

"Oh…m-my," said the reaper in a shaken voice as Vincent’s body sheathed him.  He closed his eyes and licked his lips, one hand rubbing Vincent’s hip and the other still stroking between his straddling thighs.  "That’s…wonderful!"

He hadn’t meant to lose his composure that way; he’d imagined himself being completely in control for the entire encounter, but the Earl had a way of making him take leave of his senses.  “Vincent,” he groaned, driving himself deeper, until he was completely inside of him. 

"Ahh—God, Undertaker Y-you’re…Nnnh…" his arms shook as he held himself up, allowing himself time to adjust.

The reaper held still beneath him, feeling him quivering around him.  He stroked Vincent’s thigh soothingly, opening his eyes to watch his face for the first expression that would tell him he was ready for more.  After a few moments, the discomfort began to fade from that handsome visage, leaving only pleasure stamped on his face.  Still, Undertaker didn’t move.  He left it up to Vincent to decide when he could take more, and once he was certain he could handle it, he would take over from there. 

The pale moonlight bathed the young Earl’s toned body in lunar splendor, and Undertaker admired every muscle, contour and angle of his body.  He slid his hand around and he stroked his inner thigh, before slipping his hand beneath the erection he was fondling to cup the baubles beneath it.  He massaged them in conjunction with his stroking, giving his family jewels a thorough rubdown as he stared up at him and admired his beauty.

The Earl gasped, opening his eyes and gazing down at the man buried deep within him. the moonlight making his nearly pigment-less skin white, his hair that spread over the dark blue bedding seemed to almost glow… He was beautiful…If Vincent ever saw an angel…Undertaker was it. perfect, stunning, and those glowing green and gold eyes… Yes. He was being bedded by an angel. After all, an angel of death was still an angel. and this one was his.  
  
"Undertaker…I…I’m ready." he said, taking a deep breath as he cleared his mind and lifted himself so that they could move freely within each-other.

The reaper waited for a moment, reading his eyes and his expression carefully before he began to move his hips.  He watched the flush steal over Vincent’s cheekbones as he withdrew, then eased back in to the hilt.  His eyes glazed a bit with pleasure, and his lips parted.  His breath quickened slightly as he started to thrust beneath him, taking it slow at first.  He stroked his shaft a little faster and he gave his balls a gentle, tingling squeeze with his other hand. 

"Ah, I could do this forever, given the chance," he sighed huskily.  He was adoring everything about this encounter, and he was glad of his choice to take it slow in the beginning.  As much as he would love to fuck Vincent blind as he’d suggested at dinner, he wanted to make love to him, first.  The fucking could come later.

Vincent moved his hips, helping to elongate his lover’s thrusts, panting as he savored the feel of each inch rubbing his heated walls. Leaning forward again, he pressed his lips to Undertaker’s once more, “…God, I love you…” he husked out.

The breathy declaration nearly made Undertaker stop, but he realized as soon as Vincent said it that he felt exactly the same.  He groaned into Vincent’s mouth, helpless against the feelings surging through him—both emotional and physical.  “And I you, darling,” he said when their mouths parted again.  He kept stroking the mortal off as he began to thrust a little harder, his length driving into him with more force.  His breath caught as the waves of bliss crashed over him, and he fought to keep a handle on his lust. 

Just a bit longer…he only needed to hold back for a little while longer.

Vincent’s panting continued, with the occasional moans and gasps until his body stiffened. he could feel it, so close— “U-Undertaker, I’m—!” he cried out, his warning too late as bliss washed over him and he expelled the evidence of it into the reaper’s hand.

Undertaker growled with carnal delight as his lover clenched around him with the orgasmic spasms.  He pumped his hand over the bucking shaft until the last drop of seed was expelled, and then he lifted up and rolled Vincent beneath him, hooking the Earl’s knees over his shoulders to allow greater penetration.

"Vincent," he said roughly, grabbing his wrists to pin them over his head.  He started taking him hard then, and the headboard banged against the wall with each deep, hard thrust.  "L-love…oh gods…oh  _gods_!”

He might have laughed at himself for doing the very same thing he’d just been puzzling over mortals doing, but this wasn’t just a physical experience for him.  The look on the young man’s face when he came…the way his eyes were wide with helpless pleasure right now as the impassioned reaper pinned him down and ravished him…all of it was simply too much for him. 

It certainly felt like a religious experience to Undertaker, and he finally understood why so many mortals shouted the names of deities when having sex.   

Vincent had always been on the quieter side in bed. soft moans and gasps for the most part, but he’d never been taken quite like this. and those soft sounds of pleasure turned into screams as he gripped the bedding, “More! Oh God, More!”

Hardly believing he could not only take it, but wanted more, Undertaker obliged him.  Now they were both calling out to the powers that be, caught up in the ecstasy of their coupling.  Undertaker claimed the Earl’s mouth with his again, trying—too late—to muffle both their voices.  Sweat beaded their bodies as they writhed together, and his hair spilled over his left shoulder to drape over the side of the bed.  Though he had already reached completion, Vincent’s sincere, lusty cries assured Undertaker that he was enjoying every powerful thrust.

Vincent clung to the reaper, holding him tight as he started to build up a second release—funny that Undertaker would complain of his coming too early when it seemed Vincent would be the one to release twice.

The reaper drove into him again and again, his body completely taking over to give him the climax it craved.  His moans blended with Vincent’s between their sealed lips, his flesh sliding and slapping against the Earl’s.  He was getting close…so close. 

"Nuuh…not going to last…much longer," he panted, feeling his groin beginning to tighten with the impending orgasm.  Again, this wasn’t how he’d expected it to go.  He’d pictured himself making love to him all night long, but he hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming the pleasure and passion would be.  He could tell this was going to be an explosive climax, and his body started to tense. 

Sweet, merciful death…he was reaching heights of pleasure that he normally only reached through orgasm…and he hadn’t even climaxed, yet.  Undertaker kissed Vincent again, fearing he might soon begin yowling like a cat in heat.

"M-me t-t-again!" Vincent stuttered. Oh God… Undertaker was so much more than an angel… "Good! So—Undertaker!" he spread his legs further, sure that he was about to spill over again at any second.

Undertaker clenched his teeth in his effort to hold back his cries, but it was no good.  He blurted an exclamation of purest felicity as he started twitching inside of Vincent, and he buried his face in the crook of the young man’s neck, shoving hard and deep into him as he started to come.  It made his whole body tremble, and he couldn’t have drawn breath after exhaling it all in a shout even if he needed to.

Vincent cried out again, releasing at nearly the same time, his body trembling uncontrollably. “Hahh….Hahh…” he swallowed and slowly relaxed.

Undertaker took a few moments to regain his wits.  The climax had been his most intense to date, and his heart was pounding like a hummer’s wings.  He grinned and lifted his head to look down at his blissful lover, pleased with the outcome of the encounter even though he’d hoped to make it last a bit longer.  That was what encores were for, after all.

"I got a bit rough," he said apologetically, his voice breathy with release.  He kissed Vincent’s slack lips, adoring the way he looked in the afterglow.  "You didn’t seem to mind, though."

"Mmmn…not at all." he smiled up at him, "Best I’ve ever had…" he gave him a slow, sensual kiss on the lips, fingers running through his hair.

Undertaker gladly returned the kiss, relaxing on top of him for a few moments to enjoy the moment.  He eventually withdrew, and he used a handkerchief from his robes to clean up the drying residue of their pleasure.  He lay down beside his mortal lover and he held him close, falling asleep in his arms.

 

 

* * *

 

Vincent hummed in his sleep, rolling over into the warmth next to him, sliding his arms around the soft skin he found himself on top of.  Undertaker stirred slightly as well, absently stroking the Earl’s mussed, dark hair.  They might have laid like that contentedly for a while, if it weren’t for Tanaka.  The knocking at the door startled the reaper awake, and the butler’s voice floated through.

"Master Vincent?  Are you awake yet, my lord?"

Undertaker felt a moment of panic, his head jerking up from the pillows.  He nearly blurted an oath when he saw the time on the alarm clock and the angle of the light, and he shook his companion awake whilst pressing two fingers against his lips.  It wouldn’t do for the household to learn the truth about their relationship; even if Tanaka could be trusted to keep a secret.  He didn’t want to disgrace his young lover.

Vincent jerked awake, smiling up at the reaper before the situation set in. His eyes widened.  
  
'My Lord?” Tanaka called.  
  
"I-I’m awake! I’ll ready myself this morning."

"Very well, my lord," answered the butler, and then his footsteps retreated down the hallway. 

For a moment, Undertaker and Vincent stared at each other like a pair of naughty children nearly caught in the act.  The reaper began to snicker under his breath, and he pressed his face into the pillow to muffle it.

Vincent chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand. “If we’ll be doing this we need to handle mornings better.” he whispered.

The mortician nodded, lifting his head off the pillow to grin down at him.  “Indeed.  I intended to be up and out your window before sunrise…”  he lowered his head to kiss the Earl on the mouth, “…but you felt too delightful against me to bother.”

He kissed him again, and then he reluctantly pulled away to tug the covers down and roll out of the bed.  The reaper yawned and stretched, nude except for the curtain of silver hair falling down his back.  He smirked at Vincent, letting his eyes rove over him.

"Thank you for a heavenly evening, my lord.  I look forward to the next one." 

He winked, retrieved his clothes and quietly got dressed.  He glanced over his shoulder at Vincent after getting his pants up and his boots on.  “How’s that darling little tush feeling, love?  Shall I leave you something for aches and pains?”

"I feel fine." he stated, moving to get up, groaning when he got to his feet, "…Spoke too soon." he let himself fall back on the bed.

Undertaker grabbed up his robes and fished through them for the small envelope he’d brought for just such a dilemma.  “Thought as much.”  He tossed it on the bed.  “Steep that in some hot water and then soak a wash cloth in it.  Put it on that darling bum of yours to ease the sting and hold it there for thirty minutes, or thereabouts.”

He pulled his robes on and fastened them, watching the handsome young Earl, quietly for a moment.  “Ring me later, won’t you?  Even if there isn’t an update on your case…” he trailed off, suddenly awkward.  He didn’t even know how to ask Vincent to stay in touch with him just for the sake of it.

Vincent reached out and took his hand, kissing it, “Of course…I’d keep you here if I could.”

Undertaker smiled at him, and he lifted the Earl’s hand to his lips to return the kiss.  “And I would stay.  Until next time, my dear.”

The mortician seemed to dissolve into thin air, and the only hint of his passing out the window was the pane nudging open.  Within moments, Vincent was alone in his bedroom again.

Vincent sighed and took the envelope before picking himself up once more, in a good mood despite the discomfort in his backside.

 

 

* * *

 

Two weeks passed, and Vincent’s efforts finally led him to the assassin.  The young woman known as Emily finally slipped up enough for the Earl to track her down, after she took out a nobleman—who incidentally had a few things to say about the Queen, as well.  There was no doubt that she was working for the monarchy itself to eliminate anyone that shared the Queen’s ambitions with others.  She was good, though.  She stabbed Vincent in the side before he could subdue her, and when taken away by the Yard and interrogated, she revealed a fabricated story of being a French spy.

She was executed for her crimes, much to Vincent’s dismay.  Undertaker came to visit while he was recovering from his injury, and he could see the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his healing wound.  Vincent didn’t need to tell the mortician how troubled he was that Her Majesty would allow her own assassin to be executed.

"We’re all just pawns to her, love," soothed the reaper.  "Queen Victoria couldn’t allow that girl to live, once she got caught.  She knew too much about the monarchy, you see.  It’s a brutal cycle, and you’re in just as much danger as the assassin.  Keep playing dumb, my lord.  Even if she suspects you know too much, make sure you don’t reveal it and you might stay off her list for a while longer.  She needs to know without a doubt that your first loyalty is to the Crown.  As long as she believes you won’t reveal her secrets even if you discover them, she won’t sic her other dogs on you.  Be the best, most loyal guard dog you can be, Vincent."

The young lord agreed with his advice, wise beyond his years and trusting his informant…his lover.  Vincent eventually recovered from his wounds and near the end of spring, he wed Rachel.  Undertaker watched the ceremony with a broad smile that wasn’t fabricated in the least.  Vincent’s station in life being what it was, there was no avoiding the fact that he needed to take a bride and produce heirs.  The mortician was glad he chose Rachel as his wedded mate, because he genuinely liked the girl.  She was sweet, pretty, light-hearted and quite loyal to the Earl.  She had a lovely laugh as well, and Undertaker found himself trying to provoke laughter from her when he could.

Rachel, in turn, was fond of Undertaker as well.  She always seemed delighted when he made it to gatherings or accepted a dinner invitation from her and Vincent.  Her pretty blue eyes always twinkled merrily when she greeted him, and Undertaker could forgive her for sharing Vincent’s bed each night.  She was…good for him.  And he was good for her.  He watched the love blossom between them, and just when he was ready to step aside and let Vincent go, the Earl demonstrated that he still loved and wanted him very much.

It was a peculiar little triangle, but it seemed to work well enough for them.  What finally threw Undertaker for a loop was when Vincent took his leave for Buckingham Palace one day after a luncheon date.  Undertaker and Rachel bid him farewell, each of them reminding him to be very careful at court, and as they watched his carriage leave, the young woman spoke softly to Undertaker.

"He loves you, you know."

Undertaker turned his head and regarded her with a smile.  “Well, I help keep his fool head on his shoulders, milady.”

Rachel laughed softly, putting one hand over her bonnet to keep the summer breeze from blowing it off.  “You do, but that isn’t why.”  Her smile faded into a more pensive expression.  “I know that he doesn’t always go to visit you for information, sir.  You are his lover.”

"Wha—"

Undertaker cleared his throat, knowing his expression had already given him away  No sense denying it now.  “You’re a shrewd one, little dove.  I won’t insult your intelligence by trying to deny it.”

She nodded, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked up at the cloudless, summer sky.  “Good.  I had hoped you wouldn’t.”

Feeling awkward, the mortician also looked up.  “Ironic, isn’t it?  The clouds have gone scarce on the hottest day of the year.  I almost miss the perpetual rain we’re so used to.”

"As do I," she sighed.  She looked up at him again.  "Do you love him, Undertaker?"

The mortician nodded without hesitation.  “More than is probably good for me, milady.”

She smiled.  “Then I can accept it.  I know that I’m luckier than other women.  I know he keeps only to you, when he isn’t with me, and to know that it means more to you than a dalliance sets my mind at ease.”

Undertaker frowned at her, puzzled.  “Most ladies would rather not know whose bed their husbands seek, when they aren’t sharing their own.”

Rachel smirked.  “Most ladies don’t like their husbands enough to care, sir.  I do.  There would surely be a scandal if word got out, but I count myself more fortunate than most women.  Other lords sire bastard children on various mistresses, without a care for how it eventually damages their families.  Vincent isn’t like that.  I can’t imagine the two of you ever producing a child together.”  Her smirk became teasing, and her eyes twinkled.

"Oh, I do like you," approved Undertaker with a laugh.  He sighed and he reached out to stroke a wayward blond curl back under the lady’s bonnet.  "He loves you too, you know.  I rather adore you, myself."

"Do you?"  A sunny smile graced her lips.  "That’s a good thing, then.  I would not wish to get on your bad side, sir."

"It’s harder to do than you’d think," informed the mortician with a grin.  "I don’t hold grudges easily.  You are a lady to the manner born, Rachel.  Quite a remarkable woman."  He took her hand and kissed the top of it appreciatively.

She gave a small curtsy.  “Thank you, Undertaker.  Would you like to have some tea before returning to the city?”

Undertaker offered his arm to her.  “Delighted to, my dear.  Shall we?”

She nodded and fell into step with him, heading back into the manor.  “Let’s.”

Nothing more was said between them about the odd arrangement in their lives, because both of them knew there was really no way to change it that wouldn’t leave someone hurt and resentful.  For the mortician and the countess, sharing Vincent was enough.

 

 

* * *

 -To be continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Vincent was in the garden, grinning down at Rachel as they stood under an arch of flowers. his hand moved down to touch her stomach. She had just announced to him that she was with child, and pride and anxiousness filled him.  
  
A father… he’d be a father within nine months…

He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her lips, “Rachel…”

She smiled, returning the kiss as she laid her hand over the one resting on her stomach. “You’re pleased, then?” She asked in a light, teasing tone.

"How can I not be? We are being blessed with a beautiful baby."

She chuckled.  “I hope I can give you a son Vincent, but I would like a daughter some day, too.  We must tell the Undertaker our good news, don’t you think?”

"Son or daughter…I don’t care. I’ve made you a mother, and you made me a father." he smiled, touching their foreheads together, "And of course we shall tell him. He’s…a close family friend." The Earl was unaware that Rachel knew about his affair with the old reaper.

He got his answer to that question a moment later.  “You needn’t be so guarded about him, Vincent.  He and I discussed this weeks ago, when you went away to the city for business.  I understand the truth of your arrangement with him, and I’m not angry.”

Vincent stiffened in shock, “You…know? How?” he took her hand. “You aren’t disgusted with me for giving in to sin with a man?”

She laughed softly.  “You know I’ve never been fond of church teachings, darling.  Everyone is a sinner, and compared to other noble-born men, you have been a very good and loyal husband.  I think I would actually be more upset if it were a woman, whom you could sire children with that could try to one day stake claim to  _our_  children’s inheritance.  What’s more, I genuinely like the man…strange though his ways are to me.”

Still smiling, she reached up to stroke his cheek.  “And he protects you, too.  If I must share you with someone, I’m glad that it’s him.”

The Earl softened, “However did I get so lucky, my dearest Rachel?” He pressed a kiss to her lips, stroking her blond curls, “I’d be a fool to not keep you as the only woman in my heart.”

"Yes, you would," she agreed, putting her arms around him. "Shall we invite our friend to come have dinner with us tonight, then? We could give him the news at the table."

"Shall I have Tanaka give him a call then?" He smiled, guiding her to a bench and setting her down, "Or are you wanting to call him yourself; as it seems you two are closer than I had thought?" he teased.

"Worry not, husband," she said, returning his teasing tone. "I am not close to him the way  _you_  are. I would like to call him, though. I can’t wait to see his face when he hears the news!”

"I never thought you would be. I simply meant a friendship. Come, let us phone him…together."

 

* * *

 

Undertaker glided up the stairs from his basement when he heard the phone ringing in his shop.  “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he said to the phone.  “Don’t fly off the handle.” 

He laughed at his own pun, and he picked up the telephone.  “You’ve reached the mortuary.  How can I be of service?”

"Undertaker." Vincent’s voice responded, and the man could easily imagine the smile on his face by how chipper he sounded.

"Well hullo there, my love."  Undertaker grinned happily.  "You sound pleased today.  Did you get that account you wanted?"

Rachel’s voice came through the line.  “It’s better than that, Undertaker.  We would be delighted if you would join us for dinner tonight, so that we can tell you the good news in person!”

Undertaker’s brows went up.  “Far be it from me to turn down a good meal…and you’ve got this old codger curious.  I wouldn’t miss it.”

"Good!" said Rachel.  "We look forward to seeing you, sir!"

Undertaker chuckled with delight.  “Your wife is adorable, Vincent.  But you know that, already.”

"Yes, I do." Vincent paused to take her hand, "And I am glad you are free to join us this evening. I shall alert the staff of your planned arrival."

"Sounds excellent," enthused the reaper.  "Ta-ta for now, my darlings."

He hung up the phone and tapped a long, black nail against his chin, wondering what news they had to impart to him. It  _must_  be good news, for them to sound so happy and excited.  He shrugged, reckoning he would find out soon enough.  Whistling to himself, Undertaker went back down to the basement to clean up after his latest autopsy.  It felt like a night to be dapper.  He didn’t often dress up, but both Vincent and Rachel seemed to like how he looked in a proper three-piece suit, so he decided to preen a bit for them.  He looked down at his crotch when his groin stirred at the thought of the way Vincent had undone his trousers with his teeth, the last time he dressed up for him.

"Behave, you," he scolded, wagging a finger at the bulge.  "Not everything is about you."

The goods didn’t listen, of course.  Undertaker sighed.  He certainly didn’t want to show up at the Phantomhive manor with an obvious erection straining his pants.  That was a bit more excited for the news than he wanted to appear.

"You cheeky shit," muttered the reaper.  A cold shower should do the trick.

 

* * *

 

The expecting couple waited for their guest to arrive, standing in the entry Hall, smiling when Tanaka opened the door and the reaper stepped in.

"Well, what a treat to see you dressed for the occasion, Undertaker." he greeted.

Undertaker removed his top-hat and bowed, his ribbon-bound ponytail nearly touching the floor with the motion.  “Sounded like the occasion warranted it, Mr. Tanaka.”  He straightened back up and he allowed the butler to take his hat as he approached the couple.  “My, my, look at you!  Both of you are practically glowing.  I can’t wait to hear what brought this on.”

He took one of Rachel’s gloved hands and brought it to his lips for a kiss.  “You look lovely, my dear,” he murmured, before shaking Vincent’s hand.  “And you’re completely dashing, my lord.”

"As are you." Vincent smiled.  
  
"It’s a shame you don’t dress up more often." Rachel added.  
  
A maid walked in and curtsied, “Dinner is served,”

"Well then, shall we?" suggested the mortician.  "All I’ve had today is an apple.  I’m famished!"

Rachel chuckled as the three of them walked together through the house, into the expansive dining room.  “Oh really, sir, must we begin monitoring your diet to ensure you get enough to eat?”

Undertaker grinned.  “Maybe.  I doubt I’ll be offended by the pair of you checking in on me.”

They sat down at the table, and the maid filled everyone’s water glasses.  “Now then,” said the mortician, “what’s this happy news you have to tell me?”

"Rachel," Vincent smiled, taking her hand, "Is well on her way to making me a father."

It took Undertaker a moment to comprehend that Vincent wasn’t just saying they were actively trying to conceive. His jaw dropped as he looked from one beaming face to the other.  
  
"M-my dear, are you…?"  
  
Rachel nodded and laughed with delight at his expression. “The doctor predicts I am due in December. Isn’t it wonderful, Undertaker?”  
  
He nodded and grinned, still shocked by the news. “My, my! You must have conceived as soon as you married!” He winked at Vincent. “Well done, my lord. You dog, you.”  
  
Rachel and Vincent both blushed. “Excuse me,” the Countess said, “but I was involved, too!”  
  
Undertaker cackled with delight and got out of his seat to hurry around the table and hug her without warning. “Of course, dearie. As the mother, you just so happen to be the most involved of anyone.”  
  
Smiling with excitement, he released her and he laid a protective hand over her belly. “A baby! I knew it would happen sooner or later, but…”  
  
A precognitive flash came over him then, and he froze, his mouth twisting into a frown.  
  
"Undertaker?" Rachel called. "What is it?"  
  
He shook himself out of it, not wanting to alarm the happy couple. He smiled down at her and he patted her tummy. “It’s nothing, love. I just lost my train of thought for a moment. Congratulations to you both.”  
  
He kissed her hand and shook Vincent’s, before heading back to his seat. “We’ll, I’m ready to celebrate with a meal! What are we having?”

"Rachel’s favorite, of course. A feta and spinach stuffed chicken breast." Vincent smiled, "Why not spoil the mother-to-be a little this fine evening?"

Undertaker nodded.  “Indeed, my lord.  I’m a bit partial to that dish, myself; but then, I eat like a horse when I’m not too preoccupied to remember to have more than biscuits.  Ah, thank you, my dear.”  He smiled at the maid as she brought out the appetizers and set a small plate of quiche tarts before him.  She blushed, curtsied and refilled his wine before moving on to attend the lord and lady of the house.  Guests always got served first, at the Phantomhive estate.

"Honestly sir, I don’t know where you put it all," Rachel teased.  "Thank you, Miss Mary.  It looks lovely."

"Milady," said the maid, and she bobbed a curtsy to husband and wife before taking her leave again.  She glanced at Undertaker in passing and when he winked at her, she blushed even deeper.

"Flirting with the maids again are we?" Vincent smirked, enjoying the appetizer. "I swear you’ll make the poor girl blush so hard she’ll forget how to do her job, one of these days."

The reaper chuckled.  “It’s almost compulsory.  When I see them blush, I can’t help but try to make it last longer.”  He resisted the temptation to make a suggestive observation about the way Vincent blushed.  Aware and accepting of their romantic relationship or not, Rachel was a lady and this wasn’t the time to make sexual innuendos about her husband.  He took a bite from a tart and he hummed in appreciation.  “These are lovely.”

"I believe they are one of Rachel’s own recipes." Vincent agreed.  
  
"My mother’s." she corrected.

"My compliments to your mother, then," said the mortician enthusiastically.  He finished one and began to work on another.  "Thought of any names for the baby yet?"

"Of course we haven’t th—"  
  
"We haven’t discussed it yet," Rachel interrupted her husband, "But I rather like the name of Ciel for a boy."  
  
Vincent laughed, “Ciel’s a lovely name, Rachel.”

"It is," said Undertaker with a smile.  "Little Ciel Phantomhive.  It has a nice ring to it."

He frowned again as he thought of the image he’d briefly seen in his mind earlier, when he placed his hand over her belly.  Fire and raven’s feathers…what could it mean?  Undertaker forced another smile for the happy couple, and he sipped his wine thoughtfully.  The main course came out shortly after they finished off the tartlets, and they chatted about the family business, plans for the nursery and of course, Undertaker’s business.  But for the startling and unexpected visual he’d experienced, it was an enjoyable night.

They offered a room to him for the night so that he wouldn’t have to drive all the way back to London, but he politely declined.  “I have two ‘clients’ to prepare by Wednesday,” he said, “so I’d best get back and start on them while the evening is still early.  Don’t forget our training this week, my lord.”

"Of course." he nodded, "I have a family now…they are all the more important."

Satisfied, the reaper nodded and put on his top-hat.  “Then I shall see you Wednesday, Earl.  Milady, you keep eating well and stay off your feet when you feel any fatigue coming on.”

"Absolutely," Rachel agreed with a smile.  "I have only suffered minor discomforts, so far."

"Good.  I hope it stays that way."

They walked him to the door and his cart was brought around for him.  Undertaker turned, shook Vincent’s hand and kissed Rachel’s.  “Thank you for the lovely meal, and the unexpected good news.  Until later, my loves.”

They watched together and waved as he climbed into his cart and snapped the reins, setting his donkey into motion.  As he rode away from the manor, the old reaper was deep in thought.  He could sometimes sense it when a mortal was destined to die in the near future, but the vision he’d briefly seen at the dinner table had come and gone too fast for him to get much out of it.  He made a silent vow to keep an even closer eye on the Earl and his wife.

 

* * *

 

Late. Vincent was running late, and it was his own fault—just like Rachel had told him he’d be. He’d been spending time with her after his work load for the day had been finished, fussing over her. Though she had insisted that she was fine tending to herself and that he should already be on his way to the Undertaker’s.  
  
He now wished he had listened to her as he pushed open the door to the shop a half hour late.

Undertaker was standing right there, with his arms crossed over his robed chest and an uncommon scowl on his scarred face.  While Vincent yelped in surprise, the mortician pointed at the grandfather clock against the back corner of the shop with a long black fingernail.

"Notice anything about where those hands are pointing, Earl?"

"I do…I’m sorry I’m late, I lost track of time." Vincent bowed his head in apology.

Undertaker tapped a nail against his chin.  “Do you recall what I said would happen if you’re ever late for our training sessions?”

The earl’s face quickly turned red, “But you were joking…right?”

Undertaker grinned wolfishly.  “To the ears that don’t know any better, certainly.”  He looked at the shop door and the dead bolt clicked into place, as if on its own.  He drew the curtains with a glance, and he glided over to one of his empty coffins to sit on the lid.  He patted his lap and looked up at the young man expectantly.  “Let’s get on with it, shall we?  The day isn’t getting any younger.”

Vincent’s face grew brighter and he slowly walked over to the reaper, “You’re really going to do this?”

"Never underestimate my determination to finish your training," said Undertaker.  "That means I’m willing to administer corporal punishment when you’re a naughty lad.  Undo the trousers, my lord."

Vincent’s eyes widened. not only was it happening but—like a child? looking away, he undid his belt, letting his pants slide down and gather about his ankles, followed by his underpants before he found himself bending over the reaper’s knees.  It might have seemed like he was being treated as a child at first, but then Undertaker caressed his bare, smooth bottom in a decidedly non-paternal way.  He gave each cheek a squeeze, admiring the tight firmness of them.

"You really do have the most fabulous ass I’ve ever laid eyes on, Vincent," cooed the mortician, tracing patterns over the bare skin with his fingernails.  "It’s almost a shame to redden it with my hand prints.  I can think of other things I would like to do with it, but that wouldn’t be very professional of me, would it?"

He popped the left cheek, then the right, making the Earl gasp in shock.  He rubbed his bottom soothingly, easing away the sting.  His voice was husky with arousal as he spoke in a dulcet murmur, the scratchy quality of his fake voice vanishing completely.  “You know, I believe this really  _does_  hurt me more than it hurts you, my dear.  Do you know how frustrating it is for me to handle you this way, without being able to take it further?”

He smacked both cheeks again, twice each, and he followed up with rubbing them again.

"T-trust me, I wish you would," Vincent gasped, his member growing a little hard and pressing into Undertaker’s leg. "But this isn’t very proper of you either."

Quickly developing the same issue as Vincent, Undertaker chuckled.  “Since when am I ever concerned with being proper, when we’re alone together?”  He spanked him again, giving him three sharp smacks this time before rubbing to comfort the blushing flesh.  “For that matter, I hardly bother with propriety in any other setting.  Hmm, you seem to be responding favorably to my punishment, love.”

The reaper shifted in his seat a little, pressing his hardening groin against Vincent’s lower abdomen to demonstrate his next announcement.  “Then again, so am I.  There’s no point denying it.”

He continued to spank him, alternating between smacking and rubbing his bottom.  When he felt the spot of moisture against his leg and the evidence of how hard Vincent was, he knew he wasn’t the only one with a bit of a kink for it.  He reached down and underneath the Earl’s hips with his free hand to take hold of his swollen arousal.

"Such a naughty lad," he purred, stroking the length.

"Hahh!" The Earl took a shaky breath, "You can hardly blame me! This is hardly comparable to how my father or, usually, Tanaka would punish me as a child! You may still be an elder, but you are my lover and the  _way_  you are spanking me…” he bit his lip, his length twitching in his lover’s hold, “Mmm…makes me want more,” he finally admitted.

Undertaker obliged him, unable to help himself at this point.  He kept stroking him as he spanked him, making him squirm and getting quite excited himself, in the process.  “You’re tempting me to change the lesson plan drastically,” he admitted, breathing heavily with desire.  He wanted to kiss and lick the blushing globes he was punishing…wanted to bend the Earl over his desk and take him until his cries could be heard three blocks away.  He was supposed to be helping Vincent hone his defensive moves, not spanking and humping him.

"Your fault—you insisted this happen," Vincent gasped, "Ohhh, Undertaker!"

Hearing the sweet note of surrender in his voice, the reaper groaned with lust and kept it up. He imagined the headlines that would no doubt come of it, if anyone saw them now. If he weren’t so invested in the act, he might have laughed at the thought. The desperate cries now bursting from his lover’s mouth as he neared his peak made the situation far from funny, though.

Vincent bit down on his lip, “I’m…going to make a mess soon—!” he gripped the tight fabric of his lover’s pants and shifted. Of course, he shouldn’t act so surprised. The reaper seemed to always know exactly which buttons to push to get him to the edge.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was taking far too much delight in this. He knew that if he kept going, he’d toss the day’s lesson plan into the wind and spend the afternoon making love to his charge, rather than punishing him for his tardiness. A climax wasn’t the goal here.. He stopped, and he patted Vincent’s flushed rear, pulled his pants partway up, and tucked him in a bit.  
  
"There. Now you may get up and straighten your clothes, Earl. We still have the lesson plan to see to."

Vincent stared at him a long moment, unblinking. Was he serious? he was going to leave him like this…right on the edge? He let out a whimper. “You can’t leave me like this! I can hardly concentrate on anything else!”

"Then consider it a lesson in discipline," advised the reaper—though he could hardly think of anything else, himself.  He was simply old enough and experienced enough to focus through his lust.  "What are you going to do if you’re in the middle of making love to your sweet Rachel in the dark hours of the night and some assassin comes in through the window to kill you both?  Are you just going to keep going, or will you put your safety before pleasure and defend both your lives?"

He nodded at the Earl’s open pants, trying not to stare at the sight of his erection peeking out, begging to be finished off.  “Now put your cock back in your pants.  We’ll have some tea and settle down, but there will be no more playing ‘till your defensive lessons are through for the day.  Call me a sadistic bastard if you want, and get it out of your system.”

"You truly are an evil man, Undertaker," obliged Vincent with a groan, "and that situation is different! there is no danger here and now!" Vincent grunted in discomfort as he did his pants up and tucked in his shirt. "Besides. you want me just as much!" he ran his fingers up along Undertaker’s thigh to his own bulge to make his point.

Undertaker didn’t move, but his eyes flashed beneath his bangs and his smile held a warning in it.  “Careful, Earl.  You shouldn’t tease a hungry wolf.”

"The wolf teased the guard dog." Vincent pointed out, smirking as he pressed his hand firmly to his crotch and leaning in, lips hovering over Undertaker’s, "We can be just as vicious."

Now in severe danger of making a spectacular hypocrite of himself, Undertaker reached down to pull the groping hand away from his crotch.  He immediately lamented the loss of contact, and he vowed to have his cheeky young lord right on his desk, before the day was through. 

"Hands off the goods for now, darlin’.  I can’t very well give into temptation after lecturing you against it, can I?"  He stepped away and took a slow, deep breath, clucking his tongue as his hidden gaze roved over Vincent with a carnal hunger he couldn’t completely disguise.  "Do well with your training today, and I’ll give us  _both_  what we want.”

With that said, he turned and went to the curtain in the back, pulling it open with an inviting gesture.  “After you, my lord.  The tea is ready.”

"I still tried." The young lord shrugged, though he was unable to keep the look of disappointment from his face as he eyed his lover before stepping through into the Undertaker’s private home, "The tea may even be cold by now." he removed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.

"No, I’ve kept the coals warm."  Undertaker poured the tea and brought it over to the table, grunting a little as he sat down. 

"Er…begging your pardon," he muttered as he squirmed and reached down to adjust his package under the layers of black.  He sighed, blaming the make of the pants he wore beneath his robes for the amount of discomfort his crotch was in.  The material was quite flexible, but it was designed to keep everything safely…secured…which meant there wasn’t much wiggle room for swelling down there.

The action gave Vincent a sense of satisfaction as he got out two teacups—a gift he and Rachel had presented the mortician with—and brought them to the table, filling them and preparing their tea the way each of them preferred before he sat down and took a sip, crossing his ankle over his knee to give his own crotch a little more comfort.

"Today we’ll work on your martial arts," explained Undertaker between sips.  He grimaced a little at the flavor.  He wasn’t as big a fan of Earl Grey as the Phantomhives were, but he always served it for Vincent or Rachel when they came calling.  "Your footwork is fine, but you flap your arms around like a chicken trying to take flight.  The last time, I half expected you to cluck at me."

He grinned into his cup as the Earl gave him an offended look, waiting for the expected outburst.  Pissing him off was  _one_  way to get his mind off sex.

"I hardly think I was that bad, Undertaker. I was following your lead, so if I looked like a chicken, it’s because you did, yourself." Vincent jabbed back, smirking into his tea.

Undertaker laughed, nearly choking on his tea.  “If you’d followed my lead properly, you’d have looked more like a crane.  I admit though, the stance is rather silly looking.  I’m thinking of basing a pose for a secret society on it.”  He winked at him playfully.  “That being said, you need to work on your flow.  Your motions are too stiff, and the style we’ve been practicing isn’t based on brute strength, but on fluidity.  Your enemies are likely to send men after you that are well-schooled in many forms of combat…but you’ve heard this lecture before.”

"Some of the moves just seem so useless." Vincent shook his head, "It’s not like fencing."

"But they can help you in a pinch if you get disarmed," insisted the reaper.  He took another swallow of tea.  "Like I’ve said; I want you to be able to use that delectable body of yours to defend yourself too.  An assassin isn’t going to challenge you to an honorable duel with foils."

"I’ve proven able to dodge attacks and evade injury—even from you—though I have the feeling you may be holding back on me."

The reaper didn’t deny it.  There was no point in telling him that if he ever put his full strength or dexterity into an attack against him, he wasn’t likely to survive it.  The monarchy, however, weren’t likely to send supernatural killers after Vincent.  Some might have the contacts to make pacts with demons, but there wasn’t a noble in England with ties to the underworld like the Phantomhives. 

"I never said you didn’t," Undertaker said calmly, shrugging.  "I only said you could improve…well, I said it insultingly, but you’re right; you deserve some praise for how far you’ve come so far.  It’s been a very long time since I’ve instructed anyone, Vincent, and the last student I had was a reaper fledgling.  I sometimes forget that praise is as much a part of good training as criticism."

He leaned over the table and shook his bangs to peer seriously into Vincent’s eyes for a moment.  “But I should warn you now, my lord, no matter how much you improve, I’ll never find it good enough…and do you know why?” 

"There are a few answers to that, that I can think of." the earl acknowledged. The reaper was older, more experienced, he was immortal and talented. Undertaker had a stronger sense of learning and living than he could ever hope to accomplish as a mere human. And finally…because the reaper loved him and wanted to spend the most time he could knowing that his weak, human lover was still alive.

Undertaker confirmed the last reason to be true, his voice changing from the tone of a strict disciplinarian to a lover’s caress.  “It’s because I’m not ready to lose you.” 

Suddenly, the reaper was on table on his hands and knees, without making a sound or even disturbing the teacups.  He reached out with one hand and he cupped the back of Vincent’s head as he brought his mouth to his for a kiss.  It wasn’t the aggressive, demanding kiss of a man seeking to assert dominance, nor was it the chaste, brief kiss of affection he sometimes gave him when there was no time for anything else.  This was quietly fierce, intense and somehow gentle at the same time.  He put all his love behind it, having given up on denying how he felt.  He couldn’t keep Vincent forever.  Whether family life, his duties or his very mortality did it, some day the Earl would be taken from him, and there was no getting around that.  Training him and watching over him was all he could do to ensure that day wouldn’t come sooner, rather than later.

"I want you to live to be an old man," murmured Undertaker against Vincent’s mouth, "with lots of fat grand babies and a comfortable bed to lie in when it’s your time to cross the veil; and when that time comes, my dear, I want to be the one to take you.  Death will literally be your old friend, and he’ll make your passing something to look forward to, rather than be feared.  And he’ll continue to love you, long after you’ve left your mortal life has ended."

Vincent breathed in his scent, closing his eyes as they held that moment, “However it happens, I want it to be you to take me to the other side.  I’ll always greet you as an old friend…my lover.” he moved to stand up, wrapping his arms around the reaper’s shoulders, “I know I’m mortal.  I know I’ll leave you one day, be it when my life has been spent, or I’m still relatively young.  I know I could never be with you for all time…but I will love you beyond whatever death claims me, as long as you keep me in your memories.” He whispered the responsive endearment soothingly, running his fingers through the reaper’s silver hair.

Undertaker returned the embrace.  How did they go from spanking to passionate, tender declarations of love?  He didn’t truly care.  He hadn’t enjoyed a proper embrace with Vincent in some time.  He was a versatile reaper, able to shift from one extreme to the other.  Of late, most of his and Vincent’s encounters were hurried…almost frantic.  The Earl was so busy with the family business, royal politics and making plans for the new addition he and Rachel were expecting, and Undertaker himself had a full schedule.

He turned his head and kissed Vincent on the temple, whispering a soft promise to him.  “I’ll remember you for as long as I exist, Vincent.”

_~And I fear your death will be my undoing.~_

The carnal intrigue from earlier had faded into warm feelings, and they embraced that way for several moments, until Undertaker glanced at the wall clock and saw the time.  He blew a sigh and withdrew from the young lord’s embrace.  “We’d best get started on your practice.  Come downstairs to the basement with me, so we can begin.”

"Of course." Vincent nodded, taking the ancient’s hand as they descended into the basement.

 

* * *

 

The mortician had cleared a large area in the basement, pushing all of his embalming and autopsy equipment up against the walls to make plenty of room.  He released Vincent’s hand and he stepped away from him, unfastening his chain belt of lockets and dropping it onto the examination table against the left wall.  The pendant lamps hanging from the ceiling highlighted the reaper’s silver hair as he took his hat off and dropped it beside the belt, and the mantra beads he wore around his throat soon followed.  He removed his sash and his outer robe before turning to face the Earl again, now sporting only his long, button-up shirt over the form-fitting black pants and thigh-tall, high-heeled boots with their many leather straps. 

Ordinarily he remained in his mortician garb when he trained Vincent, but the Earl was now good enough for Undertaker to do away with some of the smothering layers and spar with him void of the slight handicap.  He grinned at Vincent when he saw his bewildered stare.  “You’ve seen me nude before, Earl.  Why does this attire have you so speechless?  Granted, it’s not what you’re used to seeing me in, but is it really so shocking?”

"Sometimes it’s more alluring to be covered in the right garments than it is to be in the buff," Vincent stated, removing his gloves and readying himself—though he had far less layers than his lover did, and it took him far less time to get ready and step into the center of the room.  He pushed his hair out of his face and slicked it back so that it was out of his eyes.

Undertaker smirked, caressing him with his eyes.  “I concur.” 

He stepped into position and fell into the Crane stance.  “We’ll practice this one, first.  The idea is to strengthen the legs and lower core muscles, but in a fight, it’ll protect your groin.  Seeing as a hit to the goods can effectively stun a man in a fight, you’ll want to avoid leaving that area open if your opponent closes in on you.  As I’ve shown you before, you can kick out quickly while using it; which makes it useful for offense as well as defense.  Let’s see yours again, Vincent.”

Unsteadily, Vincent brought himself up onto one leg, his other up as his hands also came up. unfortunately, just like all the times previously, he felt a loss of balance and he began to try to regain it, spreading his arms out and straitening his leg rather than keeping it bent and ready to kick out. it worked, at least, as he felt a bit sturdier. “…I feel ridiculous…”

"Pffft!"  The reaper tried to control his mirth, but every time Vincent tried to do the Crane, he managed to satirize it.  He coughed and tried to pull a straight face when the young Earl sighed at him and began to fall out of the stance.  "Here," said Undertaker, crossing the distance to help him.  "You’re still doing the chicken dance with your arms, and you’re meant to keep the elevated leg bent!  Let’s see if we can do better with a bit of hands-on assistance."

He circled around behind him and he guided his arms up a bit higher, then bent his wrists.  “Now, hold those there and keep the elbows straight, but don’t lock them.  It’s got to  _flow_ , my lord.” 

He walked around to Vincent’s front again, and he steadied him with one hand on his shoulder and started to guide his knee to bend.  It didn’t budge at first, and Undertaker cleared his throat and gave him a warning look.  The leg relaxed a bit and as he bent it at the knee, Vincent wobbled.

"Hold steady," ordered Undertaker.  "No, you’re straightening the leg again!  Wait…why are you putting your hand behind your head?"

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the ridiculous pose that Vincent had somehow fallen into, in his effort to stay upright.  

With a small huff, Vincent lowered his leg to the floor and let his arms drop to his sides, “This is impossible! I don’t have the balance for it!”

Ordinarily, Undertaker would have denied that and insisted on practicing until he got it right.  In this case, though, he thought the Earl might be correct.  Vincent had many strengths, but in truth he could be a bit of a klutz.  His footwork was improving as Undertaker had already said, but he couldn’t seem to get that gorgeous body to cooperate with him when it came to delicate balance.  He was like a dog that way, and the thought made the reaper snicker some more.

"Ahem…begging your pardon again," apologized Undertaker.  "I was just thinking of how like a canine you really are.  You have the strength and the mobility, but when it comes to balance I think you may be right.  The Crane just isn’t for you, I s’pose."

"So you won’t force me to ‘dance like a chicken’? We can move on to something that could actually be helpful to me?" Vincent was trying not to let his lover’s laugh fluster him beyond being able to get back to focusing on his lessons.

Undertaker’s toothy grin returned, and he nodded.  “I think you’re a lost cause on that, my dear.  Shall we practice wrestling techniques?  You seem to do well with that.”

Vincent nodded, “One moment.” he stripped off his shirt. the last time his clothes had gotten ripped and though he could afford to replace it, he hadn’t been comfortable returning home in such a state.  
  
Muscles flexed as he stripped down to only his pants and shoes, smirking as he turned back to his opponent. Maybe he’d finally get an edge over the reaper like this.

The aroused state that Undertaker had finally gotten rid of rapidly approached again at the sight of his lover bare-chested, and upon recalling his own teasing words regarding already having seen one another in the nude, he sighed.  “Determined to turn me into a hypocrite, are you?”

"I was more concerned about my clothes ripping again." the Earl smirked, circling around his lover like a wolf on the hunt before taking his place, "My intentions right now are innocent."

The reaper grinned and began to circle, himself.  “Innocent in the manner of a hound closing in on a rabbit?  Careful, my lord.  Some rabbits have been known to fight back.”

He watched him through the part in his bangs, studying the play of muscle, the predatory grace and stance, and the intense look in his eyes.  “Yes, you really  _are_  a hunter, aren’t you?  I find that quite…intriguing.”

He lunged for him, careful not to use his supernatural speed.  Vincent proved much, much better at this sort of unarmed combat, and Undertaker approved when he caught him in a headlock and started to force him down.  Had he been mortal, the pressure that Vincent was putting against his throat would begin to make him black out soon.

He had to think like a mortal—no easy feat for a retired reaper thought to be completely unhinged. The first thing a human would do would be to try and break out of the choke hold, naturally.  Undertaker put one leg behind him, so that his booted foot was behind Vincent’s ankle.  He shifted leaned forward, pushed his hips back and drove his elbow back into the Earl’s stomach, making him grunt and lose his hold.  As Vincent fell backwards onto the mat spread out on the floor, Undertaker whirled and followed him down in an attempt to pin him.

Though not as strong as a reaper or a demon, Vincent’s lean, athletic body was powerful, and he was a natural for this kind of sparring.  Undertaker suspected he half reacted out of instinct rather than conscious thought when he tripped him and turned the tables on him.  The reaper landed on his back with an expulsion of breath, blinking to clear unexpected stars from his vision as the sudden move effectively stunned him.

Vincent allowed a smug smirk to twist his lips. but he knew from other lessons that it wasn’t a ‘win’ unless Undertaker actually spoke, admitting defeat. so he didn’t let up, pinning him firmly to the floor and re-applying pressure to his throat, knowing he wouldn’t kill his lover in such a way. He didn’t need to hold back. “Do you concede this round, dearest?”

Further aroused by the feel of Vincent’s body pressing down on him—heavier than a reaper’s—Undertaker smiled benignly up at him.  He was quite certain that a normal man couldn’t have easily broken his firm hold, and he thought it was time he allowed Vincent a bit more control over their encounters.

"You have me," he admitted softly.  He winked and rubbed one of his strappy, thigh-high boots against the Earl’s hip.  "The question is what will you do with me now?"

Vincent’s smirk softened to a smile before Undertaker’s eyes, and he lifted his arm from his throat, instead moving to cup his cheek and press a kiss to his agape mouth.  
  
"What any real opponent can never have." he whispered with a moan.

As far as Undertaker was concerned, that concluded the day’s lesson.  He kissed him back and decided that it was time for a reward…for both of them.

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

The seasons slowly turned, and the trees began to change color.  Unfortunately, politics and duty didn’t change with the seasons.  There was a second assassination attempt on the Earl by mid-August, this time during a ball he attended with Rachel.  The culprit tried to take him out with a sniper rifle from a balcony, and Vincent saw the danger in time to grab his wife and seek cover behind the buffet table, and the shot missed.  Security immediately chased after the sniper, but he managed to escape them and the Yard was immediately notified.  As stoic as Rachel seemed to be most of the time, the attempt on his life had truly shaken her and Vincent called for the doctor to come out to the manor, fearing her anxiety would harm her and the baby.  He called Undertaker immediately after doing that and getting her into bed.

"South London Mortuary. This is the Undertaker," the reaper answered in the scratchy, cockney-accented voice he employed as part of his disguise.

Vincent paused, tugging his ascot loose from his neck as he sat on the edge of the small table the phone sat upon. “Undertaker…there has been a second attempt.” he said, knowing the man would know exactly what he was talking about.

"At the ball?"  Undertaker’s voice changed to the smooth, more cultured flow of his natural tone.  "How close did they get, my lord?"

"I’m unhurt, however, Rachel isn’t taking it well. she seemed to go into slight shock once she realized what had nearly happened. I have her in bed and rang for the doctor. I worry the stress would harm the baby and make the pregnancy complicated."

"I’ll be right over," promised the mortician without hesitation.

"Thank you…I knew I could count on you to come." he said with a small smile into the receiver, "I’ll be in the master bedroom, so feel free to let yourself in, if Tanaka doesn’t answer the door right away."

"Right.  I’ll be there soon."

 

 

* * *

Undertaker tripped over his desk chair as he got up to gather some things for the visit.  Bad enough that Vincent’s life had been threatened, but now poor, dear Rachel was in a state and their unborn child could suffer for the trauma she’d experienced.  He mightn’t have been so concerned, if it weren’t for that odd vision that kept haunting him.  The old him would have marveled over how attached he’d become to these mortals.  True, he and Rachel shared no romantic attachment, but he did love her in his own way.  He didn’t want to see them lose their child.

Righting himself on the edge of the desk, he did a quick inventory list in his head and he meandered around his shop for things he might need; just in case something went wrong before the doctor arrived to see to the Countess.  He snatched up a few clothes from his wardrobe and stuffed them into a small suitcase hap hazardously, leaving bits of cloth hanging out sloppily as he secured it shut.  He muttered to himself as he checked everything to be sure he hadn’t forgotten something critical. 

"Apothecary bag, medical kit, medical  _book_ , clothes, hat…” He jammed said hat on his head and nodded.  “All set!”

The reaper hurried out the door of his shop, slamming it behind him and startling a mouse back into its cubby.  A moment later, the door swung open again and Undertaker rushed back in, his arms laden with his supplies. 

"Keys.  Need the keys, old fool." 

He stumbled over to the desk to retrieve his key ring, and this time he remembered to turn the sign in the window over so that the words: “Closed” were facing outward.  He locked the door behind him and started off, only to hear a rending sound as his trailing robe got caught in the door and ripped.

"Bugger," grumbled the mortician, yanking it free.  It would mend.  He whistled for his donkey as he unlocked the iron fence to the back yard.  "Daisy, here girl!  Daddy has need of you."

 

 

* * *

"You worry too much," Rachel said as her husband pressed her back down into the pillows propping her up after she attempted to get up, "Really, Vincent! It’s you we should be fussing over!"  
  
"A man took a shot at me, but I wasn’t hit. You are in a delicate position, my dear. please, take it easy and let me fuss over you—for your sake and our child’s."

Sir, Madam,” Tanaka said from the doorway, “pardon the intrusion, but Lady Rachel’s younger sister is on the telephone.  She heard the news and she demands to speak with one of you.  Master Vincent, I think it best that your wife remain in bed while you speak to the Lady Angelina, or I could bring the phone in here for her, if you wish.”

Fortunately, the telephone in the second floor hallway had a long enough cord to reach into the master bedroom for emergency calls.

"Please bring it in here. I’m sure my wife would like to speak with her sister as well?" Vincent looked at his wife, who nodded. She and her sister were close, as children they were inseparable.

Tanaka bowed.  “Very well, my lord.” 

As he started to leave, the door chimes went off and the sound of heavy knocking followed.  “It seems Master Undertaker is here.  Shall I show him in, sir?”   

"Of course." Rachel insisted. "We wouldn’t have invited him over if he wasn’t wanted." she teased.

Tanaka bowed and left to see the mortician in.

 

 

* * *

Undertaker didn’t bother taking off his hat as he strode through the door.  He set his suitcase down and he looked at the butler.  “In the master bedroom, are they?”

Tanaka nodded.  “Yes sir.  Feel free to go in.  I shall have the servants bring your luggage to your guest suite.”  He didn’t even need to question whether the mortician was staying for a while or not.  The personal suitcase next to the two kits he’d brought answered the question for him.

"Ta," said Undertaker.  "Let’s hope I don’t need to open either of these bags I’m carrying, tonight."

The butler nodded.  “She seems in good spirits, Master Undertaker.  She’s only a bit anxious for her husband.”

"And who could blame her?" said the reaper over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs with effortless, uncanny haste.

Tanaka called for the footman and went to retrieve the phone for Lady Phantomhive, before her sister decided to take a coach here herself to find out what happened.

Vincent looked up when Undertaker walked in, he was holding his wife’s hand and flashed a small smile which dulled in comparison to Rachel’s.  
  
"Undertaker! Can you please tell my husband I’ll be fine so that he’ll stop fussing over me? It’s cute, but un-necessary."

Undertaker glanced at Vincent, smiled and approached the bed.  “I’m afraid I can’t blame him, my lady.  It’s a deeply ingrained, natural compulsion for men to protect their families.  The shot that was fired at him could have easily hit  _you_ , and I reckon his concern is as much due to his own anxiety as the shock you experienced.”

He reached out to stroke her hair.  “I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with the concerns of foolish males for a bit longer, my dear, until the doctor has seen you.”  He looked down at the slight swell of her abdomen, beginning to round out as her pregnancy progressed.  “We can’t have anything happening to you or the little nipper now, can we?”

She sighed.  “Point taken, sir.”  The expression on her face changed as she looked Vincent’s way.  “Darling, may I have a moment alone with your informant?  There’s a…delicate…medical question I would like to ask him, and it would be unseemly for me to do so in front of you.”

Undertaker impulsively put a hand over her covered stomach.  “Nothing feeling off, I hope?”

She shook her head.  “No, but it has to do with women’s matters.  I know you better than our current family doctor, and I know that as a mortician, you have enough medical knowledge of your own to answer this.  I would just feel more comfortable asking you.”  She looked at Vincent again.  “Just tell my sister I shall return her call briefly, and assure her that I’m all right.  Do you mind?”

Vincent felt at a loss. Of course he wanted to hear if something was wrong with his wife whether or not it involved her pregnancy with his son or daughter, but at the same time he always wished to respect her privacy. He nodded after a slight hesitation and he got up, walking to the door just when Tanaka appeared with the phone. “I’ll take Angelina’s call in the hall, sorry for the trouble, Tanaka.” he said, taking the phone and putting it to his ear as he left the bedroom.

Undertaker waited until the door was closed before speaking.  “You’ll have me worried soon if you don’t explain what this is about, my lady.”

Rachel sighed and reached out for his hand.  Despite her earlier reassurances, she seemed too pale and now that her husband wasn’t around, the mortician could see the worry in her blue eyes.  “I fabricated the reason I wished to speak with you alone, Undertaker.  The doctor has already explained everything to me concerning pregnancy and birthing my child; I just…I want you to promise me…”

"Don’t get yourself into a state, love," soothed Undertaker, squeezing her delicate hand in his.  "You know that I’ll do my very best to protect him…and you."

She shook her head.  “That wasn’t what I wanted to ask of you.  There was never any question of that.  This is a request for my unborn child, Undertaker.  Tonight reminded me of how easily something could happen to Vincent and I.”

The reaper tilted his head, sensing where this was going and not particularly liking it.  “Lady Rachel, I would make a very poor foster parent indeed.”

She smiled.  “Would you?  But I’m not asking you to do that.  Vincent has always told me how you were there for him, at least at a distance—even when his own father wasn’t.  You’ve taught and protected him for most of his life, haven’t you?  All I ask is that you do the same for our son or daughter, when we die.”

Undertaker smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Your deaths are a long ways away yet, darlin’.  By the time you both pass, you could both be grandparents.”

Her eyes stayed level on him.  “I would like that, but it may not happen.  Vincent knows it too, and I’m fairly certain you do, as well.  Promise me, Undertaker.  I don’t ask that you be this baby’s godparent; that has already been assigned to my sister.  I just ask that you do for our son or daughter what you’ve done for Vincent.”

Undertaker lowered his gaze.  “You didn’t even need to ask, Rachel.  I’ll do what I can for the nipper.”  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, then patted it before laying it on her stomach.  He smiled brightly at her.  “Now, away with this gloomy talk.  I intend to see you both grow old and fat.  I pretty up corpses for a living, and even  _I_  find this talk grim.”

She smiled back at him, relaxing a bit.  “My apologies.  It’s been…a trying evening.”

"No doubt it has," agreed the reaper.  He got off the edge of the bed and he stretched a little.  "Now you just relax, and I’ll go fetch your hubby and tell him he can bring the phone back in."

 

 

* * *

"I assure you, your sister is in good hands—yes, the doctor has been called for—No, the baby is unhurt—Do you really think I’d be taking the time to chat over the phone like this if I had a bullet lodged in my chest? Please Lady Angelina, we are all fine. Rachel’s just resting until she calms down, now stop worrying your pretty little head."

Vincent sighed into the phone, “You may call on us if you wish. I’m sure Rachel would love a visit from you as always, but do not feel inclined to do so out of necessity.  You are with your Betrothed, are you not? Yes.” he gave a small laugh, “You are as stubborn as ever. Very well. I’ll let her know. Good night.” he hung up the phone and turned to see Undertaker walking towards him.

"Undertaker—is she alright?" he asked, fully aware he’s just finished reassuring his sister-in-law that his wife was fine.

The reaper nodded and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Best I can tell without examining her myself, yes.  I’ll give the doctor an hour to get here and if any complications arise, I’ll deal with them as best I can.  I honestly don’t think we have anything to worry about though, Vincent.  You need to sit down and have a brandy to calm your nerves.”

Undertaker put an arm around him, urging him in the direction of the second floor study.  “Come.  Let’s leave Rachel be for a little while.  We’ll have a drink together and chat, and when the doctor gets here we’ll see what he has to say.”

The Earl sighed and nodded, “Very well. I’m sure my worrying over her and the baby isn’t helping her at all…I could use a drink.”

Undertaker gave him one of those rare, warm smiles meant only for him.  “Come, then.  You sit, and I’ll pour.  I know where everything is.”

Together, they walked into the study and the mortician herded his companion over to one of the wingback armchairs, before going to the cabinet between bookshelves to liberate the crystal bottle of fine brandy.  He poured a couple of snifters and he handed one to Vincent, before taking a seat in the identical chair adjacent to his.  He took a small sip as he crossed his legs, savoring the smoothness of the drink.  They’d cut back on their training to Saturdays only, due to increasingly busy life schedules, and Vincent couldn’t make the last one because he’d had to travel out of the city to take care of business at one of his family company’s factories.

"So, aside from nearly getting assassinated again, what else have you been up to this week?"  Undertaker nudged the Earl’s calf with his boot, attempting to his attention away from his anxiety with light-hearted banter and teasing.

"Apart from not being able to visit you?" Vincent teased, "The usual. paperwork, family business management…we have decided to start producing candies in addition to children’s toys, so I’ve held meetings with chocolateers." 

"Ooh, candy," said Undertaker, perking up.  "Chocolate candy, too!  You do realize I reserve the right to be your taste tester, don’t you?  I have an insatiable sweet tooth."

Vincent laughed and stood up, crossing over to a bookshelf and taking a bowl from next to a section of books, “These are the samples we have chosen to go with. Please, help yourself.” he said, setting the bowl on the table between the chairs before sitting down once again and sipping his drink.

Undertaker wiggled his fingers over the bowl.  “They all look so tasty.  Hmm, let’s see; eenie, meanie, miney…moe.”  He selected a pink wrapped piece and he peeled the layer away, before popping the candy into his mouth.  He sucked on it thoughtfully before pocketing it in his cheek and nodding in approval.

"Good lollie.  It’s got a delightful tartness that isn’t overpowering.  Mmm, I might be tempted to take up employment as your official candy connoisseur.  Of course, if I do that I run the risk of getting too fat to fit in my coffin anymore.  Reapers don’t suffer tooth rot, but even our metabolism has its limits, just like any mortal."

He started to chuckle around the treat he was enjoying.  “Imagine the reactions I’d get from my clients if the came for my services and found a slovenly butterball rolling out of his coffin to greet them.  I doubt I’d inspire much fear into their hearts.”

"No, clearly not," chuckled Vincent, relaxing in his seat, "but you may provoke laughter if they are not too caught up on the fact that a loved one has passed—or it happens to be the Yard looking for information. I dare say those men could use a laugh once in a while."

"Laughter is a wonderful thing," agreed the reaper.  He finished off the piece of candy and resisted the temptation to try another one right away.  "It can lift burdens, lighten hearts and break the ice is awkward social situations.  It would be a sad thing indeed, should laughter disappear."

He sipped his drink thoughtfully.  How readily would he find his precious laughter when his dear Earl and his wife were gone from his life?

"You are a good man, Undertaker." Vincent smiled, "You remind me to smile when normally a man would loose sight of what’s important. This evening, for example."

The mortician pulled himself out of his reverie, and he smiled again. “A man of your station so seldom has the time to find laughter on his own, love. I’m happy to help you with that.”

Vincent chuckled, “Seems I was born into a cursed position of society…good thing I have you.”

Undertaker lifted his glass to him.  “And you’ll have me for as long as you live.”

The faint sound of the door chimes alerted them that the doctor was there, and they could already hear Tanaka’s footsteps heading down the hall to the staircase.  Undertaker finished off his brandy, got up and poured another.  He brought the bottle over to Vincent to freshen up his, as well.

"Now we wait and see what the good doctor has to say.  I’m sure everything will be fine."  Bold words, for an immortal that was secretly anxious about Rachel and the baby’s condition, himself.  "It’s best to leave him to it, so we don’t distract him.  Your butler will no doubt bring him here to us so he can give his prognosis, when he’s finished.  We can go in and talk to her after that."

With a sigh, Vincent nodded and crossed his legs, “I’m just anxious. It’s our first child, after all.  Everything’s new and…frightening.”

"I can’t say I can relate to that, seeing as my kind don’t sexually reproduce, but I  _do_  understand why you’re so anxious, my lord.  Perhaps it would make you feel better to know that I myself nearly broke my own neck trying to get out of my shop and on the road to your manor, after I hung up the phone with you.  Tore my robe in the process when I slammed and locked it in the door, too.”

Undertaker glanced down and lifted his leg to display the abused material.  “I tried to run off without my keys, and twice on the way here I came close to running down pedestrians on the streets of London.”  He smirked self-depreciatingly.  “I may not know what it’s like to be expecting a child for the first time, but by George, I know what it’s like to worry about someone.  I don’t think I’ve ever driven that rickety old cart of mine so fast…poor ol’ Daisy…I’d like to see to it she gets her fill of carrots when they stable her tonight, if that’s all right by you.”

"Of course…though in a way, this baby is yours as well, Uncle Undertaker." Vincent smiled, "I want you present in his or her life. of course, he mustn’t know about us, but nothing is stopping you from being in her life."

The reaper chuckled. “‘Uncle Undertaker’. I think I like that.”  
  
He sipped his drink, thinking of how closely Vincent’s declaration paralleled his wife’s plea, earlier in the bedchamber. “Every family should have a ‘funny uncle’ in it.”

Vincent chuckled, “You’ll be his favorite Uncle, that’s for sure…unless you give them coal every Christmas.”

Undertaker slapped his knee with mirth, his white teeth flashing in a smile. “Ah, but the coal is a good thing, Earl.” He snickered into his hand. “As long as you’re still naughty enough to find it in your stockings, you stand a better chance at survival.”

"I much preferred last year’s kiss under the mistletoe to finding a lump of coal, and children prefer toys or candy." Vincent pointed out.

"What they prefer and what they actually get depends on their behavior, love." Undertaker winked at him. "Personally, I hope I get to stick a lump of coal down your knickers for many years to come. Rest easy; I won’t be taking that particular liberty with any children you sire…just their father."

"I would hope so." the earl commented, setting his glass down and leaning forward, "Same with that kiss and all the other things we do in private."

"Bah, I’m not  _that_  much of a lecher!  Give a body a little credit, would you?”  He spoiled his offended air with a chuckle and he nudged Vincent’s leg playfully again.  “You alone are the recipient of my perverted ways, my dear.”

"I was teasing you." Vincent chuckled, glad for the distraction from worry.

"I’m quite fond of the way you tease me," assured Undertaker, grinning. 

The doctor was shown in by Tanaka then, and both men stood up anxiously.  “Please, sit down,” he said with a smile, his thin, withered old face kindly.  “Lady Phantomhive is in fine health, and so is the baby.  It will take more than a scare to make her miscarry, I assure you.  She’s a strong woman and thus far, this pregnancy is going quite smoothly.”

Undertaker breathed a sigh of relief before he could stop himself, and he quickly and subtly reached out to steady the Earl by the arm when he thought it looked like Vincent might collapse.  “Much obliged, Dr. Primrose.  Mayhap the Earl would like to sit and chat over a brandy with you about it?”  He glanced at Vincent meaningfully.  “This would be a perfect time for the young lord to ask you any questions he has concerning his wife’s condition, and what he might do to ensure she stays in top health.” 

"Yes, please," agreed Vincent.  "It is the least I could offer for your trouble in coming all the way out here on such short notice."  Vincent made an inviting gesture at the sofa, while Undertaker poured the brandy. 

"Well, all right then," said the doctor.  "I can’t rightly turn down a good brandy, can I?  Thank you, sir."

Undertaker nodded and took his seat next to Vincent, and together, the three of them discussed Rachel’s condition and what Vincent should be doing as the father and her husband to help her through the pregnancy.  The mortician asked questions he thought were pertinent as well, to ensure his lover got every piece of information he would need.  By the time they finished and Dr. Primrose went on his way, Rachel was asleep.

"Best not wake her," whispered Undertaker.  "You and I can chat a while longer or play chess, if you aren’t ready to turn in yet."

"Chess. It’s a calming game of the mind—and I may just win against you this time." Vincent smirked, moving back into the study to retrieve the marble chess set from its shelf.  Undertaker followed him and he relaxed in the armchair, retrieving his half-finished glass of brandy as his mortal lover set the game table up. 

"All you need do is apply that brilliant logic of yours," he encouraged.  "I think I only win because you’re worried I’ll be offended if you beat me."

"Since when do I let people win? You are no different than any other opponent, my dear Undertaker." Vincent purred, "…Except that you actually can beat me."

Intrigued by the seductive quality he detected in the Earl’s voice, Undertaker straightened up in his chair and he set his drink aside as the table was set up.  Vincent scooted his chair to face him on the opposite side of it, and they set up the pieces.  Undertaker took the black pieces, while Vincent took the white ones.  Fitting, he thought.

"What are the stakes this evening, my lord?" asked the reaper softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief beneath the fringe of his bangs.

"Another wager? Last time I took a bet with you I’d lost."

The mortician grinned and spread his hands, his onyx nails making his already long fingers appear even longer. “Maybe this time, you’ll have better luck. What would you ask of Death, if you can beat him at this game?”

"Very well…no more private spankings before we get to work during my lessons with you."

Undertaker laughed. “Is that all? I was rather hoping you’d request to tie me up and have your way with me.”  
  
He leaned over the chess table to speak in a low whisper. “Just between you and me, I’m fairly sure you enjoyed that spanking.”

"I did. but I said nothing of taking my punishment  _after_  we finish,” Vincent pointed out.

Undertaker’s grin took to his ears. “Ahh, very clever, my dear. That’s very clever indeed. Very well; if you win, I won’t swat that darling rump of yours before sparring lessons.”

"And if you win?"

The reaper sucked his perfect white teeth in thought, examining a rook he was placing. “If I win, we lock the door and you strip naked for my inspection. No sex, of course…that wouldn’t be appropriate, now would it?”

"No, it wouldn’t. It would not be fair to dear Rachel. She may be fine with our relationship, but when she’s been ordered to bed, I should not be bedding another."

Undertaker nodded. “Hence the ‘no sex’ clause. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a look at the goods, love.”

Vincent chuckled, conceding.  “Very well. Let us start the game.”

He made the first move, and the Undertaker considered it, before making his own. “Word in the underground is the Greys might be involved in the Crown’s plotting,” he said conversationally, almost as an afterthought. “I haven’t heard or seen conclusive evidence though. It could be just rumor, but I’d keep my eye on that family at gatherings, all the same.”  
  
He’d meant to tell Vincent of the whispers he’d heard in the morning, but the assassination attempt and Rachel’s condition had effectively put it out of his mind.

"It’s possible…I hear Charles has gotten quite close to Her Majesty’s person, moving quickly up through the royal courts." Vincent moved a pawn, turning the turn back over to Undertaker.

"Hmm."  Undertaker thought that over as he considered his next move.  He took Vincent’s pawn and shrugged.  "I hear he’s a formidable swordsman.  Word has it he recently killed a fellow in a duel.  Perhaps it’s time for us to hone your favorite weapon skill a bit, my lord."

"I wouldn’t mind furthering such skills. I do quite enjoy fencing." He nodded as he thought on his next move before taking it.

The mortician studied the chessboard, and then decided on his move.  “I must admit, my fencing skills are somewhat lacking, compared to yours.”

"Then maybe it’s time for me to teach you something," Vincent said after a long pause and making his next move, taking out one of Undertaker’s pawns.

Undertaker grinned.  “That would be a refreshing change, my lord.  I’m used to slashing a scythe most mortals could hardly lift.  A foil is…delicate.  Wouldn’t it be something, for you to teach ol’ Undertaker how to wield one the way it’s meant to be done?”

He moved one of his bishops, taking another of the Earl’s pawns. 

"Think you could handle the more delicate art of the foil, mister reaper?" he teased, capturing that same bishop with a knight.

"Possibly," said Undertaker benignly.  "Keep in mind that the weapon I’m used to employing could easily cut an entire ship in half with one stroke.  That same weapon can also collect the souls of crying children with nary a whimper from them, and no cut to show for it."

He glanced up from the chessboard, looking at Vincent through the shroud of his fringe.  “But a foil?  To me, it’s rather like poking at someone with a toothpick.  There is a certain…finesse involved that I’ve never really grasped, Earl.  Hmm.”  He tapped his teeth with a long black nail.  “Very nice, my dear.  I’m afraid I need a moment to consider my next move.”

"Take your time." Vincent nodded, folding his fingers in front of his mouth as he kept his eyes on the board, "Foils and rapiers are elegant, but deadly if that is what you aim for in a duel. it is an art to wield one properly, and it acts as an extension to your own body. it’s a dance, and every movement is critical, even the twitch of a finger. It’s a game of the mind just as much as it is a show of strength and skill."

The reaper new all of this already, but once in a while, he thought it was good for Vincent’s morale to let his strong points shine a bit.  It was the least he could do, after humiliating him with the Crane stance.  Knowing the tenets of the art wasn’t quite the same as having the innate skill to perfect it, though.  Undertaker himself would never be a master of the foil, but he did rather enjoy hearing the note of confidence in the Earl’s voice when he spoke of it.  He thought that Vincent could one day grow to be one of the greatest fencers in England.

"You’ve got the concept far better than I do," he admitted, not paying lip service in the slightest.  "A bit of turnabout in our lesson plan might freshen things up a bit, and I wouldn’t want you to fall out of practice with the blade trying to perfect Eastern fighting stances that don’t mesh well with your style.  I still want you to keep in practice with them, mind you, because you never know what could happen in a struggle, but we can’t neglect your true strengths."

He made another move and took another pawn.  So far, the game was evenly matched.  He suspected that bolstering Vincent’s confidence might make him a shrewder player, though.  His darling Earl always did better when he felt more sure of himself.   

The couple played on, capturing each other’s pieces along the way until finally Vincent frowned, studying the board, and the way the game was going. At this point, he could make a mistake and loose, or he could make the best move he had left and…it still wouldn’t be a win. he could also see the options Undertaker had to him. they were in the same position. forfeit the game or end it—in a draw. he sighed, making his move. he wasn’t one to give up.

"Well now," said the reaper with amusement.  "It appears we’re at a stalemate, my lord."  He made his move, and he leaned back in the chair and watched the young man with intrigue.

"How will we handle our wagers, then?"

"Either we conclude this, wager-wise, as a loss on both parts—or a victory." Vincent raised his gaze to study the man, "Any preferences?"

Undertaker sighed, looking him over with hooded, amber-green eyes.  “How badly do you want me to save any future…disciplinary measures for after our exercises, rather than before?”

"It’s only a logical request. You get me riled up and then my focus becomes divided during the lesson."

The mortician smirked.  “Logical perhaps, but not as fun.”  He gazed at him quietly for a moment, and he grinned.  “Seeing as we both won, I think it’s only fair that we both honor our part of the wager.  I promise not to spank you like that again before a lesson, if you’ll do me the honor of sending me off to bed with a lovely image of you in the nude to dream to.  Fair and square, darlin’.  What do you say?”

Cheeks flushed, Vincent stood up without a word, moving over to the door and locking it before walking to the large window, drawing the drapes and turning to face the reaper.  
  
The earl reached up and tugged loose his ascot the rest of the way, dropping it to the floor, followed by his fine waistcoat and shirt. his shoes were kicked off, his socks following before he slowed down. the firelight from the hearth bathing his skin in warm light as he slowly removed his belt and teasingly began to push his slacks down off his hips, a smirk on his lips.

Undertaker relaxed in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head as he enjoyed the show, smiling. Usually one to value a laugh for entertainment, he decided that this ranked even higher on his appreciation scale.  
  
"Cheeky, sensual chap," he purred, watching the seductive grace of the Earl’s provocative display with approval. He was already swelling with desire, and he longed to run his tongue over the lines of Vincent’s bared collarbone and chest. Out of respect for Rachel he resisted temptation, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the moment he tasted the smooth skin.

"You asked for it." Vincent purred, shedding the last of his clothes and moving over to sit—or in this case, pose seductively—in his chair, side-ways, "I do not make it a habit to disappoint in paying my dues."

Undertaker absently wiped his mouth, devouring him with his veiled gaze. “Yes I did, and yes, you certainly don’t disappoint, Vincent. My, my, what a glorious picture you make. I could just…eat you.”  
  
Would that the time was right to engage in a demonstration and suck the handsome Earl’s cock ‘till he was cross-eyed with pleasure and begging to be claimed. The mortician stood up, and not even the bulk of his robes could conceal the blatant approval his groin was demonstrating.  
  
"I’ve decided I want a nude painting of you someday soon, to hang in my bedroom and admire each day. Alas, my fine darling, I should take my leave now…while I still have the will to."  
  
He bowed a little stiffly and went to the door. He paused in the act of unlocking it to slip out, and he turned to get one last, lingering eyeful.  
  
"Mph, I’ll enjoy very pleasant dreams tonight, Earl. May yours prove as fulfilling."

"Ill see you at breakfast, Undertaker." Vincent nodded with a smile, satisfied by his lover’s reaction.

 

 

* * *

Undertaker suffered a restless night.  For one, he was used to sleeping in his coffin.  For another, He had pent-up sexual need and nobody save his hand to release it with.  He took care of the problem after tossing and turning for the first couple of hours, and then he finally drifted off to sleep in the big, queen-sized guest bed.  He wasn’t fortunate enough to have peaceful dreams, however. Sometime in the black hours of the morning, he awoke with a scream on his lips and he sat up urgently in the bed, eyes opened wide.

Blood…fire…raven feathers.  It was the same as his vision, but he couldn’t recall any details other than that.  All he knew was that it was related to his dear mortals, and it certainly wasn’t a good omen.  He got out of bed and put his robe on, then glided out of the guest room and down the hall to the master bedroom.  Quiet as a ghost, he opened the door and slipped inside to check on Vincent and Rachel.  He was cloaked now, so even if they sensed his presence, nobody in this house would be able to see him, even if standing before him.  He watched the couple sleep, with Vincent spooned up against his wife and her slender hand resting over the arm he had around her waist.

The reaper smiled quietly and he took a seat in the rocking chair near their bedside table, staying to simply watch them for a while.  He still couldn’t work out the warning in his mind, but he knew that some day or another, they were going to fall on strife.  He only hoped they would survive it, and he made a silent vow to help them as much as possible, without breaking the laws of reapers, Heaven and earth.

After a while, he’d had his fill of the picturesque sight of them and he left as silently as he came, retiring to his own bed again.  Sleep was hard to come by, but it eventually came to him again and by the time the sun was rising, the Undertaker was snoring softly in his poufy guest bed.

 

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

Undertaker stayed at the Phantomhive estate for another two days, and he and Vincent held their next scheduled lesson there, on the last day of his visit. While the reaper still had to hold back his Shinigami reflexes and strength, he wasn’t too proud to admit that Vincent was indeed the better swordsman of the two of them. Rather than lament the fact that his lover would never reach his full potential as a mere mortal, Undertaker applauded the fact that he did not  _need_  supernatural powers to be deadly with the blade. In fact he could dare say that Vincent could hold his own against most reapers, demons and angels if he had to—even if he couldn’t win by brute force.

  
Rachel took delight in watching them fence, and the three of them exchanged witty remarks and teased each other as the training went on.  
  
"We must show you Vincent’s Chicken stance sometime, Lady Rachel," Undertaker called out to her as he made a pass at Vincent—which the Earl immediately parried. "It’s a sight to behold!"

"Not happening; my dear wife would die of laughter." Vincent admitted; making Rachel giggle.  
  
"Oh now you tempt me, Vincent. I absolutely must see it!"

"A gentleman should never refuse such a simple request from an expecting lady," admonished the reaper with a grin and conspiring wink for Rachel. "Come now, Earl…show the lovely missus your patented stance."

"You are cruel, Undertaker, bringing up such an embarrassing fact about me. I say if I must show her, that you owe me." Vincent lunged, the tip of his practice foil tagging the reaper’s shoulder.

"Ouch," protested the mortician with a laugh. "Careful with that thing, love. I’m a fragile old man!"

"I won’t deny ‘old’ but ‘fragile’ you are not. Point." Vincent smirked, leaving the fencing line and walking over to the teatray next to his wife, taking a sip of his tea before smiling at her, "And you are no better than he for wishing to see me make a fool of myself, my dear."

"Come December, I’ll be the one in an undignified position while I bring our son or daughter into the world," said Rachel shrewdly, her blue eyes teasing on him. "I could be in labor for two days, and you cannot spare one moment to entertain me?"  
  
Undertaker chuckled. “She’s starting to sound more like me.  You both are, in fact.”

"I think you two secretly plot against me." Vincent sighed, "And my dear, nothing could make you more beautiful than bringing our child into this world." he leaned down to gingerly kiss her cheek, "Even if you cuss like a sailor while doing so."

"And if you don’t want to be unladylike, I could stand around spouting profanities for you," offered the silver reaper.

"You would do so anyway just to see the reactions of the doctor." Rachel giggled.

The mortician nodded and bowed. “Guilty as charged. He looked at Vincent, and he lifted his brows at him. “Well, go on then! Show your lady-love the stance, my lord.”

"I don’t even remember how I did it—or how it’s supposed to look." Vincent protested, "I stopped trying to do it when you agreed it was pointless with my lack of balance."

Undertaker cupped a hand around his mouth and he spoke in a loud whisper, “He’s shy!”

"I’m not ‘shy’!" The earl crossed his arms, flushing slightly.

"He says whilst blushing," observed the mortician with a sage nod, white teeth flashing in a smile.  
  
"My lord husband does redden easily," agreed Racel with a feminine giggle. "I think it’s darling."  
  
Undertaker nodded. “Indeed.”

"…you two were born to team up against me, weren’t you?" he asked, setting aside his foil.

"Or maybe we both have a common interest in seeing you blush," said Undertaker with a smirk.  
  
Rachel nodded, smiling at her husband with shining eyes. “I find it adorable.”

"…I’m not sure I like you two being friends anymore." Vincent teased, backing up a few paces before looking at Undertaker, "You’ll have to help again if I’m going to do this."

"Of course," the reaper agreed happily—quite boyish for a man who’d been around since before the crusades. He stepped up to Vincent, but he looked at Rachel.  
  
"Now my dear, I don’t suppose you’re familiar with Asian martial arts?"  
  
She shook her head and she absently reared her hand over the slight curve of her abdomen. “I cannot say that I am, sir.”  
  
"Well, one of the stances I was tutoring your husband on is called the Crane stance. It goes like so…"  
  
He demonstrated it for her, and he explained the technique behind it. When she said she understood, the reaper bade Vincent to perform the stance. As per usual, he tried to instruct him but their efforts fell short and the Earl ended up in the odd pose he’d invented for himself again.  
  
Undertaker couldn’t help but burst into laughter, his shoulders trembling with mirth. Rachel’s expression of amusement was kinder; she covered her mouth with a gloved hand to soften her chuckles.  
  
"Oh, darling husband if mine," she said with a smile as the blushing young lord dropped the pose. "Your fencing skills make up for it."  
  
Undertaker nodded, still chuckling beneath his breath. “They do indeed. We can’t be masters of everything we do.” The mortician patted Vincent consolingly on the arm. “What matters is you tried; and you’ve learned enough to defend yourself should an enemy use these arts against you.”

"With any luck it won’t be needed—though I suppose it’s better than assassins in the night and snipers at Balls." He sighed, moving to take his seat next to his wife, "How are you feeling, Love?" he asked her, "Need anything?"

Rachel smiled at him, fanning herself delicately with the lacy fan so popular for ladies to keep on their person.  “I think I may retire inside, darling.  I may be having one of those heat flashes.”

Undertaker walked over to her and took note of the flush in her cheeks, nodding.  “It’s a rather warm day for this time of year.  You ought to relax in the parlor and have a chilled glass of lemon water, my lady.”

"I think I shall," she agreed.  "Vincent?  Would you be so kind as to escort me?"

"Of course." Vincent set down his teacup and offered her his arm, smiling at her as he escorted her back inside.

Undertaker watched them go, and he decided it was time to pack up and return to the shop.  He wouldn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye, of course, but Rachel seemed to be doing just fine and Vincent had finally settled down.  He smirked at the turn of events in his life, no longer questioning how he came to be so involved with these two mortals.  It was fate, and not even reapers had the power to escape what had been laid down for them.

 

 

* * *

Winter began its approach, and as Rachel grew close to her time, the Undertaker and Vincent had fewer training sessions.  The young Earl didn’t like to leave his wife’s side for long, now that she was in the final stages of pregnancy.  Undertaker certainly didn’t blame him for that, and he took what time he could get with him and came for dinner each weekend to spend time with Rachel, too.  During one such meal, Undertaker began to get a strange feeling in his gut.  At first, he didn’t understand what it was, but then the feeling changed from a mild cramping sensation to outright pain.

The ancient reaper looked at his wine glass.  He’d been the first to be served, and Rachel was sticking with tea and water.  He looked down the table at Vincent, who was just about to raise his freshly poured glass of the same wine to his lips.  Undertaker reacted immediately, jumping up from his chair, hopping onto the table and rushing over the top of it to the Earl.  He slapped the wine glass out of Vincent’s hand, sending it crashing against the far wall and drawing a shriek of alarm from the poor maid.  Vincent’s eyes were bugging out and Rachel stood up to stare with shock, amazed that the funeral director had literally  _run_  over the top of the table without disturbing a single centerpiece, plate or tray.

"Undertaker, what—" began Rachel.

"Poison," coughed Undertaker, interrupting her query.  Blood trickled from his pale lips and he turned his face away from Vincent as he hopped down and coughed again.  He looked at the maid, knowing the poor dear wasn’t responsible for it. 

"Who’s…had access to the wine besides you tonight, darlin?"  He covered his mouth with his sleeve, feeling his gut twisting warningly.  He’d soon be vomiting blood.

"Th-the new kitchen help, sir," she answered.  "R-R-Rodger…I can’t recall his—"

"Where is he now?" Interrupted the mortician, quickly running out of time.

"He was just going outside to the garden…"

Undertaker turned to Vincent and Rachel.  Had her water been tainted, she would already be feeling the effects of it.  He was grateful that didn’t seem to be the case.  “Do not drink or eat anything prepared tonight, my lord and lady.  Have your entire wine stock disposed of and call the Yard immediately.  I’m going after the culprit.”

He was off in a flash of black and silver, leaving them stunned in the dining room.

Vincent had been sitting in shock, but finally was able to shake it as he stood up, “But you’ve ingested it! Undertaker!” His worry was clear on his face. sure, the man wasn’t human, but that was his blood… It made the unexpectedly subtle attempt on his life all the more real—it had affected his lover, and had the man been human, he’d undoubtedly would be dead or dying.  
  
He was a danger to those around him until the attempts stopped—and if they were ordered by the queen, they wouldn’t be stopped.  
  
Vincent wanted to run after Undertaker, but he refused to leave Rachel. “Come, let us go to the library—it’s safest there with all the thick shelving units, in case this night isn’t over yet. Tanaka! Please get the Yard on the phone and have them come over—make sure no one eats dinner, and have all the wine dumped out.”  
  
The old butler nodded and hurried off to first inform the staff before he took to the phone.

 

 

* * *

 

"Think you can escape death, boy?" Undertaker said as he closed in on the fleeing young man. His footsteps barely made a sound as he chased his quarry down the winding paths of the garden and into the hedge maze.  
  
Unfortunately, the poison was slowing the reaper’s system down, causing his heart to falter in a manner that would have been alarming, had he been a mortal. As it stood, the toxins began to cause muscle spasms that made his coordination sluggish, at best. It couldn’t kill him, but it was going to make it damned hard to catch up with his quarry. There was little doubt in his mind that if Vincent or anyone else in the manor had ingested it, they would have died in agony within moments.  
  
Undertaker lost track of him when a dizzy spell struck him and he stumbled. He pressed a hand over his heart, reckoning it would be exploding in his chest right now, were it not for his preternatural biology. His strength gave out, and he fell to his knees.  
  
Undertaker heard footsteps approaching as he fell onto his side, and he looked up blearily as a masculine figure approached. His vision was already poor as a Shinigami, but the effects of the poison made it worse. He knew that it was the assassin going by the moniker of “Rodger”, and not Vincent. He could smell the death on him.  
  
The culprit nudged him none too gently with his shoe, making him groan. “Why aren’t you dead, old man?”  
  
Undertaker would have liked to respond with something witty, but his lungs were full of blood and all that came out was a gurgle when he tried to speak. The killer drew a pistol, and the reaper groaned inwardly, bracing himself as he took aim at his head.  
  
"No matter," said the assassin. "This should finish you. One less obstacle."  
  
The mortician heard raised voices approaching from outside the hedge maze, one of which belonged to Vincent. The others sounded like the house guards. They were calling out for him, searching for him. They wouldn’t make it on time, unless the assassin decided to flee before firing on him.  
  
Undertaker had no such luck; the culprit cocked the hammer on his gun and looked down at the reaper again. “This ought to send a proper message.”  
  
Undertaker felt the pain of the bullet slamming into his skull, and then the world went black for him.  
  
Satisfied that he wouldn’t be getting up again, the killer made his escape. By the time Vincent and his armed escort arrived on the scene, Undertaker was lying still, cold and waxen pale in a pool of blood. By all appearances, he looked dead.

 

 

* * *

 

Vincent’s footsteps faltered when he heard the shot ring out, and then he and his men sped up, rounding the hedges in time to see a figure in the distance disappear into the woods; a body laying deathly still in the grass, white hair spread out around his head, his body twisted, and blood…  
  
The Earl let out a pained cry, falling to his knees next to the reaper as his men continued pursuit, Tanaka staying beside him as a bodyguard as he pulled Undertaker into his arms.  
  
"No…no, no, no, no, no! Undertaker! No…say something, please!" He pleaded, trying to wipe away the blood from his lips and forehead. He expected the reaper to move—for the wound to close up and for him to be fine—he wasn’t human, he was Death! Death couldn’t take Death…right?  
  
But the reaper stayed unmoving; no hint at any life left within his form. Vincent’s stomach clenched up, his gasps growing ragged with panic as tears fell from his eyes.  
  
"No! Come back to me! Please! Undertaker, you self-righteous, selfless bastard! Open you eyes… _please_! I c-I can’t loose you!” he sobbed.  
  
And still, no response. Even as he pressed his lips to Undertaker’s cool, unresponsive ones.  
  
Tanaka ignored the kiss—he’d suspected such a relationship between his Lord and the reaper for quite some time.  It was, after all, nearly impossible to keep secrets from one’s own butler. But with a sorrowed look in his eyes, he bent down and placed his hand on the Earl’s shoulder, “Sir, we should take him inside.  I will call for the doctor. He’s not human…he has a chance.”  
  
Vincent nodded and took a shaky breath, gathering the man into his arms and letting Tanaka help him up. Together, they rushed back into the house and they placed Undertaker on one of the couches in the great hall. Vincent dropped to his knees by his side as he listened to Tanaka call for the Doctor in the foyer.  
  
"Oh God, Undertaker…"

 

 

* * *

 

Rachel sat up when she heard her husband and the men come back in, and she hurried out of the study and down the stairs.  
  
"Did you catch him?" The question tumbled from her lips, only to fall into shocked silence when she saw the limp, bloodied form they carried. Tanaka was already going for the phone to ring the doctor, and Vincent knelt by Undertaker and held his unresponsive hand as they lowered him onto one of the couches.  
  
She had never seen her husband look so lost…so grief-stricken. As the realization of what she was seeing sank in, her own vision blurred with tears. There was a bullet hole in Undertaker’s forehead. His lips were gray, save for the bright blood staining them. His beautiful, flowing hair was matted and drenched with red. His chest was utterly still.  
  
"Oh, no," she choked, gathering her skirts to run to Vincent’s side. "No!"

The Earl pulled his wife into his arms, letting her sob into his chest. he said nothing—he couldn’t. all words had been lost to him. He buried his face in his wife’s hair, shaking as sobs escaped him.

Tanaka returned to the hall, and he sighed quietly in sympathy for the young couple. He wanted to believe that the Undertaker would survive this, but as the minutes ticked by with no sign of life from the mortician, he resigned himself to the possibility that not even an immortal could come back from deadly poisoning and a shot to the head. The servants had done their best to bandage the Undertaker’s head, but it wasn’t likely to do any good.  
  
Tanaka cleared his throat and did his best to keep his voice even and comforting. “Dr. Heltzer is on his way, my lord. He has advised that we not move him further.”  
  
He had suggested that they hire the general physician to be their live-in doctor in light of recent events, but things had been so busy that they never got the chance. It would be a sad thing if they learned he might have saved the Undertaker, had he been here to see to him immediately.  
  
All they could do now was wait. “I shall make some soothing chai tea for you both,” offered the butler, and he left them to their grief, his heart heavy with sorrow.

The Earl nodded and wiped his eyes. It wouldn’t do to show the extent of his emotion over what had happened—and as much as he wanted to screw his stupid reputation, he knew taht doing so would only hurt Rachel and their child. he held onto his wife tighter.

Doctor Heltzer arrived after ten and he examined the fallen mortician carefully. He was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper brown hair, which he kept pulled back into a ponytail, falling to his mid-back. He wasn’t as kindly as the maternity specialist Rachel was seeing, but he had a reputation as the best general practitioner in the area.  
  
After several tense moments, he put his instruments away and stood up, shaking his head. “I’m sorry; there is nothing I can do. This man is dead, and I doubt I could have saved him even if I’d been here when this occurred.”

Vincent trembled, taking a deep breath to control his emotions before speaking, “We understand—thank you for your time, Doctor.  
  
But as soon as the doctor had left, he fell to his hands and knees. Undertaker—was dead. His lover—his immortal lover…had died before him.  
  
All because someone wanted  _him_  dead.  
  
Anger and hatred began to boil up under his sorrow. His fists clenching as he grit his teeth together. They would pay…the man who shot Undertaker, the person who had hired him…whoever they were would pay.

 

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Undertaker was prepared for burial and consigned to the ground. Word got out that the mysterious, seemingly ageless Phantomhive informant had succumbed to attacks meant for the lord of the manor, and there was a high turnout at the funeral.  
  
Not a one of them besides the staff and members of the Phantomhive household was there to mourn the Undertaker’s passing. They were there because they were curious, and the whispering gossip began as soon as the guests arrived.  
  
"Buzzards," Rachel murmured to her husband as they prepared to lower him into the family graveyard. She held Vincent’s hand tightly, nodding at the coffin being lowered into the ground. "That’s what he would have called them."

Vincent nodded, watching solemnly as the body of his lover was lowered into the ground, “Here in hopes of increasing their own social standing.” he muttered in a monotone, “As if a funeral was the proper place for such things; it’s sickening.” Swallowing, he turned his pained gaze on his wife, taking his handkerchief and drying the trails of tears from her eyes. He kept his own tears to be shed in private, though it didn’t stop them from forming.

"May The Lord bless and keep you," said the priest over the casket, "and may you rest in peace."  
  
The casket settled into the grave, and they began to fill it. A respectful hush fell upon the crowd. As the second shovel of dirt hit the lid of the coffin, there was a sudden ruckus. People looked around in confusion at first; until it became apparent that the noise was coming from within the fresh grave.  
  
"V-Vincent?" Rachel said uncertainly as the coffin began to shift and jump in its grave.  
  
Off to the side, Tanaka’s brows lifted with surprise, before a tiny, subtle smirk curved his lips beneath his mustache.

Vincent’s eyes suddenly lit up with hope, and he left his wife’s side as he took a few steps closer to the grave, crouching down to look closer. A few other men followed suit, curious as to what was happening.

The coffin outright  _bucked_  in its grave, and people gasped and stepped back with alarm as the black lacquered lid burst open, flying right out of the grave to land with a crash amongst the chairs lining the lawn.  
  
The Undertaker—dressed in his customary combination of black robes, pointed boots and black top hat by Vincent’s insistence—rose up out of his coffin like some sort of vampire from a horror novel. He looked around at the shocked crowd, and he brushed off his robes and blurted a candid announcement.  
  
"Well now, as tries go, that one was better than most."  
  
Somewhere in the audience a woman screamed, and the poor priest went cross-eyed with shock and collapsed in a dead faint.

"Vincent—no!" Angelina’s voice gasped as the redhead hurried to her sister.  
  
But Vincent didn’t listen, hopping down into the grave, much to everyone’s shock—well, everyone who hadn’t fled or feinted. He held a serious look on his face as he studied Undertaker, his eyes full of hurt, frustration, sorrow, and relief. “If that was all a joke then it was in very poor taste!”

Undertaker was disoriented…confused. His voice was scratchier than usual as he spoke with vocal chords that hadn’t been used at all for two days. “A joke? Is that why someone decided to lock me in my coffin after that spleeny clotpole tried to end me? I agree Earl…very poor taste, indeed. Lock an old man up in his bed while he’s recovering! The…the nerve!”  
  
Undertaker then realized that he and Vincent were standing six-feet deep in a hole, and his nose crinkled in confusion. He looked around, swaying unsteadily as he peered blearily at his gaping audience.  
  
"Oh my," he muttered. "We aren’t in my shop, are we?"

"No, we aren’t." Vincent crossed his arms, masking his emotions with a sense of annoyance, "You were presumed dead! No heart beat, no breathing…nothing! Not one single clue that you were alive! …shit…" he turned his back to the audience of watchers as he tried fighting back his tears.

Undertaker scratched his head. “I find this all frightfully confusing. You arranged a funeral for me?”  
  
Tanaka stepped forward and graciously offered a handkerchief to his master, before helping him out of the grave.  
  
"There have been many cases of people being mistakenly pronounced dead and buried alive," he offered gracefully, and he steadied Vincent on his feet before extending his hand down to Undertaker. "It appears you have been another one, sir."  
  
Undertaker took the offered hand and climbed out, weak in the knees from his ordeal and still trying to gather his wits. “Thanks, old friend.”  
  
He brushed off his robes and he looked around at the audience, giving a little start of surprise at the number of attendees. “Well good news, everyone; I’m alive and well. You can all return home, now. Go on…shoo.”  
  
He waved them away like they were pesky birds. Having seen enough for one day, the crowd began to disperse, the confused murmur of intrigue following them. The maid went to the fallen priest to revive him with smelling salts, while Undertaker turned to face Rachel and her wide-eyed sister.  
  
"Now, don’t you look at me like I’m the bogeyman, dearies. It’s just me; your friendly neighborhood Undertaker."  
  
"Rachel, don’t!" Begged Countess Durless as the blonde woman took a hesitant step toward the risen mortician. Angelina had her arms around Rachel’s expanding waist, and she stared at Undertaker like he was going to eat them whole.  
  
Rachel gently disengaged from her sister’s embrace, and she looked up at the Undertaker searchingly. She dared to push the fringe from his eyes to examine his entire face, and she paled further when she saw no hint of a bullet wound in his forehead.  
  
"Not a single mark," she whispered, "but…how is that possible? What  _are_  you, sir?”  
  
Undertaker gazed deeply into her eyes, working his will on her despite the dizziness he felt. “Just an old man that got misdiagnosed, love. It was just a little nick, and my family’s always healed fast. Don’t get yourself into a state. I’m a bit worse for the wear, but I’m flesh and blood and alive.”  
  
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears, and she hastily wiped them away. “Oh, Undertaker…we thought…and you awoke in your own coffin!”  
  
He shrugged and grinned. “I usually do that every morning, my dear. No harm done there.”  
  
"B-but we nearly buried you alive! Forgive us."  
  
"Shhh, dry your eyes now," he said gently. He cast a worried look at Vincent, who stood with his back turned and his body tense as he struggled to compose himself. "Anyone could make that mistake…happens more than you think. At least I woke up before I got fully buried. There’s nothing to forgive. Now if you don’t mind, would you collect your sister and go inside with the rest of the household and the priest? I’d like to have a word alone with the young Earl."  
  
Glancing at her husband, she understood. “Of course, sir. Take all the time you need.”  
  
Undertaker waited until they were all around the corner and out of sight, before approaching his lover.  
  
"Vincent," he said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

Vincent slowly turned to look up at the reaper, finally letting go of his mask now that they were alone together, “I thought you were dead—that I lost you,” he whispered roughly, the emotion choking out his voice.  
  
He spun around to fully face Undertaker, reaching up to cup his cheeks as he pushed himself up onto his toes to press a kiss to his lips, relief settling his shaking nerves when he felt the kiss returned…life behind it. He wasn’t kissing a corpse.  
  
"Bastard," he continued as their lips drifted apart once more, "Why didn’t you tell me what  _couldn’t_  kill you? Immortal doesn’t mean you can’t be killed!”

Undertaker put his arms around him, finding it easier to ground himself again with Vincent as his anchor.  “Indeed it doesn’t,” he agreed softly, his smile soft and pained, “but in my defense, I had no idea that get would manage to incapacitate me like that, and I couldn’t very well explain I wasn’t dead while I was unconscious.  Truth is, I was in a healing sleep and we reapers don’t breathe.  My heartbeat slowed down so much, it’s no surprise a doctor couldn’t detect it.  I’m sorry, my dear; I should have sat down with you and told you about healing trances before this happened.  I honestly never thought I’d be injured enough to go into one, while in your service.  This body of mine is nigh indestructible.”

He took one of Vincent’s hands and he placed it over his throat, laying it against the scar encircling it.  “These were made by death scythes.  The only weapon known to cause fatal, lasting damage to a Shinigami happens to be the very ones we use to collect souls.  Ol’ Undertaker just got cocky…didn’t think a mortal could put him down like that.  In fact, the last thought that went through my head before he pulled the trigger was that I should have told you bullets can’t kill me…even if it looks like they did.  It just took time for my body to recover from the combination of the poison and the gunshot.”

He looked around, his nose crinkling again in thought as thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up.  “By the way…how long  _was_  I out for?”

"Two days" Vincent said, "This was supposed to be a private funeral, but you know how people can be when they hear word of anything involving a family name like mine." He tightened his arms around his lover, "I’m glad you awoke before the funeral was over—I might have never known."

Undertaker nuzzled the Earl’s dark hair, and he chuckled.  “Oh, you’d have known, my lord.  I don’t require breath and even in my weakened condition, I’m stronger than most humans.  I’d have climbed my way out of that grave sooner or later and come knocking on your door, demanding to know why in the hell you buried me.”

He pulled back a little and he cupped Vincent’s chin as he shook his bangs out of his eyes, holding his gaze.  “You held a funeral for me.”

The Earl nodded, “Of course I did. You’re someone special to both Rachel and I.  You aren’t just a casual fling to me, Undertaker, you’re my lover. You can’t expect me to simply throw you in a ditch somewhere.”

The reaper laughed, but his eyes remained on Vincent’s. “I never thought anyone would do that for me. A funeral is a very special occasion, my dear. It’s when everyone who cared enough about you to attend recall parts of your role in their lives. For mortals, it’s a slice of immortality. Even those without children live on in the memories of those they left behind and…”  
  
He trailed off, slightly embarrassed to find that he was rambling. He lowered his gaze and shrugged. “I suppose I’m just touched that you and Lady Rachel would do that for me.”

"Without a doubt.  As soon as we had the chance to calm enough to think, we knew we’d give you one…we didn’t even need to say anything, we both just knew it would happen—even if it was only the two of us and Tanaka who attended."  
  
The rain started to fall, leaving small dots of wetness on their shoulders before lightning flashed above and the clouds let loose, drenching them quickly.  
  
Vincent gasped, taken by surprise at the cold rain. but he didn’t move, keeping his eyes on his lover, watching as his white fringe clung to his face, water droplets running down his skin.

"I don’t suppose you caught the culprit?" Undertaker’s gaze swept over Vincent as the rain drenched his clothes and made them cling to his body. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of sex, but it was difficult to resist his desire to kiss him again.  His mouth hovered close to Vincent’s, his lips nearly touching the Earl’s.

"Hmmm…no…he had escaped…" Vincent hummed against Undertaker’s lips, "We don’t even know what he looks like.  They found a wig in the woods not far from where you were shot."

The mortician sighed. “Bugger. You know, he could be…”  
  
He was going to say he could be the same person that took a shot at Vincent at the ball earlier in the year, but he was distracted by Vincent’s nearness, the proximity of his lips. His knees felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his coma or the joy he felt in knowing his love had thrown the greatest celebration of life for him. Before he knew what was happening, they were lip-locked…tongues seeking eagerly, bodies pressed flush against each other, hands exploring.  
  
The pounding of the rain on their bodies probably should have cooled them down, but the sheer emotion in Vincent’s kiss put the reaper at the mercy of his passions. It was beyond sexual…there was something more profound being exchanged in this kiss, and all that Undertaker wanted at the moment was to let it go on and on, for as long as it possibly could.  
  
Nobody had ever loved him like this before, and he in turn had never felt such a connection to anyone before. His fingers pushed through the Earl’s wet hair, his hands cradling his head. He would normally be tempted to rip his clothes off and have his way with him, but this was enough for him, right now.

Vincent pulled himself up flush against Undertaker’s body. He wasn’t aiming for sex, but he honestly didn’t mind if the kiss lead them to it. Right in that moment, all he knew was that he was relieved the man was alive, and he didn’t care about anything else. Even the rain seemed to fade away with the world as their lips and tongues danced together.  
  
He had three loves. The first, his unborn child. and then there were Undertaker and Rachel. and he wanted all three of them safe and alive. And he’d almost lost one. He thought he had.

After an indeterminable amount of time, they finally broke the kiss and Undertaker just gazed into those expressive brown eyes. “I feel blessed,” he sighed, “to have you and your darling lady in my life. Oh dear, I haven’t asked about her health, have I? She and the nipper are okay, aren’t they?”

"She’s as stubborn as ever." Vincent smiled. "I was worried about her when she found out you were gone, but she, as usual, pulled through. She’s had no complications.  I think it’s a blessing that women are the ones to carry children and not men—I might have lost the baby, if it were me."

Undertaker chuckled and patted his shoulders affectionately. “And it must have been all the more shocking for her, when I burst out of that coffin. She doesn’t have the benefit of knowing who and what I truly am.”  
  
He sighed. “But female intuition is strong , Vincent. We may soon have to sit down with her and tell her; preferably after the little one is born.”

He nodded, “She’s due soon, and I think after seeing you come back from the grave—literally—that the truth is owed to her.”  
  
He slid his hands down over his chest, “Undertaker…promise me you’ll try avoiding getting shot in the head from now on.  The image of you that night—it’s haunting.”

This time, The Undertaker found that he couldn’t summon a smile. He imagined what it must have looked like to Vincent, to find him lying so still and cold in that maze…so much dead meat, like any mortal dealt a fatal blow. He put himself in his place, imagining how he would have felt to find Vincent dead—and were the tables turned, the young Earl wouldn’t be rising from his grave for a second chance.  
  
Ignoring the downpour now drenching them, Undertaker reached out to caress Vincent’s cheek. “Oh, my dear,” he whispered. “I doubt I can ever truly make up for putting you through that, but I mean to try anyway. Forgive me?”

"You came back, didn’t you?" Vincent tilted his head into Undertaker’s hand, "Of course I forgive you, I just don’t want to repeat that night, if it can be avoided at all."

The reaper’s smile returned. “I try to avoid getting bested by mortals whenever possible. This experienced has served as a reminder that it can happen. I promise, I’ll try to avoid being poisoned and shot again, in the future.”  
  
He gave Vincent one last embrace and a kiss, before stepping away and urging him along down the path leading out of the graveyard. “Come, my lord. We need to get you into something dry. How ironic and infuriating it would be, for me to rise from the dead only to have you  _catch_  your death of cold. I owe an apology to dear Rachel and her sister, as well.”

Vincent nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before the two headed back in towards the manor. “I must insist, though, that you stay for the night.”

Undertaker’s legs nearly gave out and he was forced to borrow Vincent as a steadying crutch. “Sorry love. I’m not at my best. I think I’ll take you up on that offer. Traveling while I’m this weak would be a fool’s choice.”

"Good." he smiled at the reaper and helped him into the house where two footmen hurried forward to take their coats and hats.  
  
The maid, still looking shaken from Undertaker’s timely return, bowed, “Hot baths have been prepared in the master Bath and the Bath in the East wing, second floor.”

Undertaker thanked her, and he reluctantly parted ways with his lover to bathe traces of grave dirt from his body and change into clean garments. He was faintly amused and touched all over again to find his things still exactly as he left them in his appointed guest room. It seemed the Earl hadn’t been able to give up hope completely, even though he’d thought him dead.  
  
He shook hands with Tanaka when he emerged from his room and found him waiting with a smile and a greeting, and the old butler escorted him to the dining hall for dinner, rightly assuming he was famished. He enjoyed a lovely meal with his two favorite mortals, followed by cigars and brandy in the study afterwards with Vincent. Rachel was quite graceful when he apologized to her and her little sister for the scare he’d given them, but Madam Durless seemed wary of him. He shrugged it off, used to such a reaction to most mortals. He spent one more night at the Phantomhive manor and come morning, he had breakfast with them, said his goodbyes and packed up his cart to leave.  
  
"You take good care of yourself and your hubby, sweetheart," he said to Rachel as they exchanged a brief hug, "and be sure to call me if anything comes amiss."  
  
"Absolutely," she promised as they stepped apart. "You will…be here for the birth of our child, won’t you?"  
  
Undertaker smiled broadly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, love. I’ll be here in a jiffy, the minute I get the call.” He winked at her playfully. “Someone’s got to keep Vincent calm while you’re bringing his son or daughter into the world.”  
  
She sighed and cast a fond smile her husband’s way. “I’m counting on it. Vincent can be…high strung, when he worries about us.” She patted her swollen belly meaningfully.  
  
Undertaker laughed in delight, wishing he could give Vincent the goodbye kiss he deserved. It would cause a scandal if he did so in front of anyone, though. “I’ll keep him distracted so he won’t get in your way. Goodbye, little Phantomhive.” He laid a hand over Rachel’s belly. “Be good to your Mum and don’t try to come out before you’re due, eh?”  
  
Rachel and Vincent both chuckled, and Angelina looked away uncomfortably. Deciding he’d best depart before he ended up asking to stay on as a live-in advisor. He’d make a very poor informant indeed if he gave up his practice and came to live with them. Half his information came from the dead, and the rest came from the underworld.  
  
With regret, the reaper boarded his cart and snapped the reins to get Daisy moving. He waved at the Phantomhives and their staff as he drove away, and he sighed.  There was still a killer on the loose, and with the baby coming soon, it was even more important to make sure Vincent and his wife were well-guarded.

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

Vincent groaned, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he leaned back in his high-backed chair in his office. The workload that day wasn’t particularly heavy, but his mind was on Rachel. She was overdue, and could go into labor at any moment. Knowing that, he found it near impossible to focus on anything.

  
Giving up for the moment, he stood and walked over to the large window behind his desk, his hot tea in hand as he looked out at the snow starting to fall, blanketing the ground in the perfect white that reflected the sunlight in a sparkling beauty.

There was a knock at his office door. “Vincent?” Came Rachel’s muffled, strained voice from the other side. “Am I disturbing you?”

"Of course not! How are you feeling? any pain?" Vincent abandoned his post and hurried to the door as his wife opened it and stepped in.

Rachel had both hands over her extended abdomen, and she was rubbing it in circular motions. A few strands of golden hair had fallen free of the piled twist she’d styled it into, and a lock fell over her eye as she looked down at her belly.  
  
"I think perhaps we should rouse the doctor and call the Undertaker, darling. I’ve begun having contractions."

"Why are you so calm!" her husband cried out, taking her hands, "Why are you walking around? Hurry, we need to get you to bed! Tanaka!" He called out, frantically, but gently guiding his wife back out of his office, "Call for the Doctor and Undertaker!"

"Oh  _really_ , Vincent,” sighed Rachel as the butler’s hurried footsteps could be heard in the hallway.  “We’ve gone over this with Dr. Primrose many times.  This baby won’t be born immediately, and I could have contractions all day long, before my labor actually starts.  Please, don’t hustle me off to bed immediately.  The doctor said it’s best for a healthy mother to be active for as long as she can, before she must be confined to the birthing bed…don’t you remember?”

"…No," Vincent admitted, and then sighed, "I’m sorry, Rachel…I’ve just been waiting for this all week.  I want to meet our child, and I want to see you safely through this."

"Dr. Primrose says I am in the best shape I could possibly be in," she soothed with a smile. "You needn’t apologize; just try to stay calm for me. I’m frightened enough on my own."  
  
She squeezed his hand and laughed unsteadily. The maid poked her head in and announced that the doctor was on his way to the office, and Rachel kissed her husband on the cheek.  
  
"Have faith, darling. That and your strength is what I need the most."

The man flushed, “I don’t see how you can be so calm about this.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck tenderly, “You’re about to be a mother.”

She trembled a little and sucked in a sharp breath as another contraction began. “Trust me; I’m only calm on the outside. Panicking won’t be good for me or the baby.”

 

 

* * *

  
Undertaker was up and moving before he even finished replacing the phone on its cradle. A whirlwind of black garments and silver hair, he rushed around in a chaotic manner and tried to get organized.  
  
"Apothecary bag, medical bag, medical book," he muttered to himself, inadvertently giving an encore of his rush the night that Vincent had been shot at. A mouse squeaked as he slammed a door, and he cast a glance at its hole.  
  
"Quiet, Swiss. This is an important night." A wide grin split his mouth, revealing the glint of ivory teeth. "A little Phantomhive is going to be born."  
  
He double checked everything—this time remembering to pocket his keys—and he put on his hat. He turned the sign over and rushed out the door, locking it behind him.  
  
He nearly made it out of his shop without incident, but he was so preoccupied with the impending birth that he failed to notice the patch of ice outside his shop. He went down hard, his top hat falling off his head and his luggage flying up into the air as he fell on his back.  
  
"Ouch."  
  
Winded, he climbed painfully to his feet and he gathered his things up. Fortunately, there was nobody nearby to see his tumble. Now limping a little, the retired Shinigami went around back to get his donkey and wagon ready.

 

 

* * *

 

Vincent was pacing. He couldn’t help it; he was too anxious to sit calmly as he waited for the doctor to say that the baby was ready—that Rachel’s water broke. He knew his inability to sit still wasn’t helping, but what else could he do? How did the men before him handle such a situation?

Undertaker arrived at the manor and Tanaka immediately escorted him into the billiard room, where poor Vincent was pacing back and forth, trying to stay out of the way and keep calm.  He had a glass of port in his hand and the billiard balls lay scattered and forgotten over the table.

"The doctor ordered him out of the room when his anxiety began to upset Lady Rachel," whispered the butler in explanation.  "She has not gone into full labor yet, sir."

Undertaker nodded, and he allowed the footman to take his bags.  “Tell Dr. Primrose I’m here and ready to assist him, if necessary.”

Tanaka bowed.  “Right away, Master Undertaker.”

The butler left them alone in the billiard room and Undertaker approached Vincent with a smile, putting his hands on his shoulders and halting him in his tracks.  “You’ll wear a groove in the floor, my dear.  Take a deep breath.  Your lady is doing well, and the nipper is too.  Childbirth takes time.”

Vincent started and looked up into the face of his lover, wondering briefly when the man had arrived. he sighed and shook his head, “I can not help it. It’s been getting worse all week. ‘what if its early?’ ‘what if its on time?’ ‘how late will this go?’…Undertaker, what if I don’t make a good father?”

Undertaker reached out to caress his face, still smiling.  “Codswallop.  You’ll make a fine parent, and so will the missus.  First time jitters are commonplace amongst expecting parents.  Right now, what you need to focus on is supporting your wife and staying as calm as possible.  You’re doing neither jack nor shit for yourself by worrying your head over the far future, my lord.  Trust me in this.”

"I keep getting sent away." Vincent frowned with a sigh. "I’m not cut out for this wait."

Undertaker put an arm around him and guided him over to the bar.  “Most expecting fathers aren’t, in my experience…least the ones that care enough to be nervous.  I’d say your concern does your wife and child credit.  You’re a good husband, and you’ll be a good father, too.”

He took Vincent’s glass from him and he refreshed his drink, before pouring himself a snifter of brandy.  “Don’t sulk about it.  There’s a reason the men go and smoke while the wives labor.  Mum picks up on your anxiety, and she’s got enough of her own to deal with.  I’m sure when her water breaks and it’s time for her to begin pushing, we can arrange for you to be there holding her hand.  Until then, you’re best off letting the doctor and his nurse coach her and prepare her.  They’ll keep her calm and the birth will go a lot smoother on mother and child, that way.”

He clinked his glass against Vincent’s, and he grinned.  “Maybe it would make you feel better to know I nearly cracked my fool head open on my way out the door to come here.  You’re not alone in your excitement, my dear.”  He winked at him and took a swallow of brandy.

"I do wish you’d be careful, old man, I fear any more injury to your head and you’ll loose your mind completely." he teased, trying out a smile before sipping his drink and letting out a sigh.

Undertaker smirked.  “My old noggin’s as hard as a rock.  You ought to know that.”

A low, feminine cry of discomfort came from further down the hall, and the mortician frowned and stopped Vincent when he started to impulsively go to his wife.  “They’ll send for you, when the time is right,” he reminded.  “Birthing pains are an unfortunate part of reproduction for women, my dear, but you must remember they are designed to endure it.  If there are any complications—which I doubt there will be—Dr. Primrose will send for me to help.  He’s a very good doctor.  Trust in him, and trust in your wife.”

Contrary to his encouraging words, he drank his brandy down in one swallow and poured himself another, more nervous than he cared to admit.  “Now, let’s talk about something else for a while.  There was another murder in the Queen’s palace last week.  This time, it was one of her scullery maids.  Did you hear anything about it?”

He presumed that he didn’t, because Vincent ordinarily shared it with him whenever he was put on an investigative assignment…but the Earl was a very distracted young man, these days.

"No, I have not received any word of such a thing." Vincent shook his head.

"As I thought," sighed the reaper. 

This meant Her Majesty was slowly phasing her guard dog out, keeping him in the dark whenever possible to avoid leaking too many secrets to him.  There was no telling when or why she decided that Vincent was no longer a trustworthy subject.  Perhaps it was just her way to eventually rid herself of all agents, once they came to know too much…or perhaps the rising favor of the Grey house had something to do with it.  It wasn’t beyond the scope of imagination to imagine the Queen being influenced by someone else.  Her husband was ill and she hadn’t been quite herself for some time.

He considered discussing these concerns with Vincent, but he thought better of it.  The Earl had enough on his plate as it was, without him adding more.  He parted his lips to say something distracting to his companion; perhaps a joke…but then Tanaka came into the Billiard room with a bow.

"My lord, the Countess’ water has broken," he informed, "and the doctor says she is ready to begin pushing.  She requests your presence at her side."

The earl jumped up, abandoning his glass as he rushed out of the room ahead of Undertaker and his butler. Bursting into the room, he startled Rachel’s lady in waiting, causing the poor girl to nearly drop the warm towels she was bringing into the room.  
  
He rushed to his wife’s side and took her hand as he half sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her knuckles.

"Hello, darling," Rachel said with a strained smile, sweat plastering her blonde hair to her forehead.  She looked up as the Undertaker poked his head in and waved, and she chuckled unevenly.  "And you, sir.  I…ooohhh!  I’m ready to…bring him into the world."

“‘Him’?” asked the mortician with a smile.  “You sound sure of that, milady.”

Rachel nodded, sucking in a few quick breaths.  “I am…now.  Boys are always…trouble.”

Undertaker laughed.  “I’ll leave you to it, then.  I’ll be just outside, if I’m needed.”

"Thank you."  She felt another contraction ripping through her and she couldn’t help but bear down.  She clenched her teeth and squeezed her husband’s hand tightly as she followed the dictates of her body.

"That’s it, Countess," encouraged Dr. Primrose.  "Your body knows what must be done.  Trust in your instincts."

Nodding, unable to respond verbally while bearing down, she did as encouraged.  Her thighs clenched up, her stomach went hard and a moan escaped her lips.  Undertaker stood respectfully outside and listened to her struggles, and he was thankful not to be a woman.  Human reproduction was so complex and messy, compared to the Shinigami method of increasing their numbers.  Once upon a time, he’d considered adopting a human child, just to see what it was like to be a parent and raise a youngling to adulthood.  He’d trained many fledgling reapers in his day, but it wasn’t the same thing.  Now he was glad that he never took on that responsibility.  Any child raised by him would likely require therapy before it even reached puberty.

Undertaker chuckled at the thought, but his amusement faded quickly at the sound of agony coming from within the master chamber.  He winced in sympathy for the young woman as her birthing pains grew more severe, the closer she came to delivery.  At least there weren’t any complications, and that was a blessing.  Many a poor lass died giving birth, and they didn’t even have a choice whether or not to take that risk, unless they joined a convent.  Women of all walks of life were expected to become mothers as soon as they were reproductively mature enough to start breeding, and those who failed or neglected to do so were looked down upon.

No, he would not want to be a human woman, in this era.

Vincent comforted his wife, trying to sooth her through the pain, but his attempts only earned his hand a sharper squeeze, causing him to yelp. But he said nothing. what was a cracked hand in comparison to what she was going through?

 

 

* * *

 

Hours passed as the Countess struggled to bring her child into the world, and just when Undertaker thought they might need to intervene with surgery, he heard the doctor exclaim that the baby’s head was crowning. Forgetting propriety in his excitement, the reaper went into the room to see, and to offer his support.  
  
"Sir," said Rachel’s handmaiden, "You must wait outside! It isn’t proper for—"  
  
"Let him stay," Rachel demanded breathlessly. "We want…him here…aahh!"  
  
"You’re doing well, darlin’," assured Undertaker with a grin as he checked the progress. "It won’t be long now."

"Indeed, once you get the head out, the rest slips out like butter." The doctor nodded.  
  
Vincent kissed her forehead, “Just a little more, love.”

Following instructions, Rachel began to bear down with all her might. After a few more hard pushes, she felt the burn and tearing as the baby’s head passed. The doctor cleared the child’s airways and it let out a protesting wail. As promised, the rest followed relatively easily.  
  
"It’s a boy!" Exclaimed Dr. Primrose.

Vincent smiled, brushing Rachel’s hair out of her face, “You did it, love.”  
  
The baby boy was cleaned up and wrapped in a warm blanket before passed to his mother.  
  
"He’s beautiful…Rachel…" The earl smiled wider as they looked at their son.  
  
"Next time—you do the painful thing and I’ll tell you good job," she panted, smiling down at their son. "He looks so much like you."

Undertaker leaned over the proud couple and he grinned widely, nodding.  “Indeed.  He might be the spitting image of Vincent when he was born, except he’s got your eyes, Rachel.”

The baby’s dark hair shared the blue-ish highlights of his father’s, and he looked around with inquisitive blue eyes.  “I can see the wit in those eyes,” said the mortician.  “He’s working things out, trying to figure out who all these strange people are around him.  He’ll be a crafty one, your little Ciel.”

The baby’s eyes snapped unsteadily to Undertaker, and his face twisted into a look of utter confusion, then wonderment when he spotted the long braid falling over the man’s shoulders. with a gasp-like noise, he reached forward and after a few attempts he grabbed hold the end with his little fingers.  
  
About to stick it in his mouth, his eyes found his mother and he grinned, giving off a giggle.  
  
"Well, he already knows who his favorite is." Vincent smiled, tickling lightly under Ciel’s chin.

Undertaker chuckled, allowing the child to gum his braid for a moment before retrieving it from his grasp. “He’ll be a tenacious lad, no doubt. Congratulations, you two. You did a fine job making him.”

Vincent chuckled, “He’s perfect.” he nodded and kissed Rachel’s temple.

"Gentlemen, I’m afraid you need to clear the room for a few moments," said Dr. Primrose.  "We still need to clean up the afterbirth, and the nurse will need to help Lady Phantomhive with the first feeding.  All of us men hovering around will surely impede the new mother’s adaptation to nursing and make her uncomfortable.  You may return to spend time with your wife and new son after she’s nursed him, Lord Phantomhive."

Undertaker actually blushed a little at that, though there wasn’t a single part of the female body he wasn’t familiar with.  “Right, then.  Back to the Billiard room with us for now then, my lord.” 

"….Right." The earl nodded and kissed his wife once more and reluctantly pulled away from his family, joining Undertaker at the door.

 

 

* * *

 

After mother and son bonded, Vincent was able to have his turn holding and bonding with him.  Rachel fell into an exhausted sleep and the doctor treated her and sent for a wet nurse to help out, until the Countess was strong enough to nurse Ciel exclusively.  He explained to Vincent that the first feed was the most important one, and they could keep the wet nurse under their employment for as long as Rachel desired.  Undertaker got to hold the baby as well, though he shied away from it at first.  With Vincent’s coaxing, he hesitantly took the tiny mortal in his arms, supporting his head carefully as he looked down at him.  The baby took hold of his braid again and looked up at him curiously as the mortician grinned down at him, and suddenly, Undertaker was stricken by another precognitive flash.  When gazing into Ciel’s innocent blue eyes, he saw a vision of narrow, ruby demon eyes looking back at him from a void.

Frowning, the reaper kept it to himself.  He was tired, and he couldn’t be certain it wasn’t just his imagination.  It had only lasted for half a second, after all.  He smiled again as the baby gurgled, and he rocked him a little. 

"Quiet little fellow," he mused softly to the doting young father standing beside him.  "I wonder how long that will last."

"Not very," predicted Dr. Primrose with a mild chuckle.  He looked at Vincent.  "Enjoy the quiet while you can, my lord.  Babies can’t help but be selfish little creatures, and your son will make that very apparent, sooner or later.  Agreeing to the wet nurse while your wife recovers was a wise choice."

"He’s not the only one. Poor Rachel having to put up with two greedy men." Vincent chuckled, "And of course I’ll hire one, if it’ll make things easier for her."

Dr. Primrose nodded.  “It’s a common practice amongst the noble-born, Earl.  Some might think it’s arrogance, but I know for a fact that social responsibilities and affairs of the state take up a lot of time and energy.  I imagine Lady Rachel will only require help for the first week or so, and then she’ll want to nurse him on her own.  You can quote me on that, too.”

Undertaker laughed.  “The Countess is so stubborn that I doubt she’ll go more than a couple of days with outside help, but it’s a capital idea, guvnor.  It’ll give her time to rest and recover.”

Vincent nodded, “She is a very strong woman who wouldn’t want the help longer than she thinks is necessary.”

"Indeed," agreed the Undertaker. "You made a smart match for yourself with her."  
  
The reaper cast one more look at the bedroom door, his thoughts swirling with the possible meaning behind the omens he’d seen.

 

 

* * *

 

A little over three months later, word came from the underworld that the assassin who had tried to poison Vincent was also the one that took a shot at him at the ball; just as Undertaker suspected.  After speaking over the phone with one of his contacts, the mortician grinned. 

"Thank you, Mr. Tully.  I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for this information…if it leads to my quarry as you say.  Have a good evening." 

He hung up the phone and he scooted his chair back to stand up.  He currently had no clients to work on, so there was no point in waiting around to get things taken care of.  He went down into the basement to make preparations and set up his tools, and then he came back up to the shop to phone his lover.

"Evening, Mr. Tanaka," he greeted when the butler answered the phone.  "I’d like to speak with the lord of the house, if you please."

"Of course, sir," answered Tanaka.  "I shall inform him immediately.  Please hold."

Undertaker waited patiently, absently drumming his nails on the worn wood of his desk.  He looked down at the surface and he sighed.  How long had he had this desk, now?  It was splintering; he’d had to dig one out of his palm earlier that morning.  It was time to get a new one, more likely than not.

Vincent spoke into the phone and Undertaker’s grin returned.  “Hullo, Earl.  I think I’ve just discovered the identity of your would-be assassin…the one who put me in my grave.  He could possibly be the sniper, as well.  How do you feel about tracking him down with me and demonstrating why he shouldn’t have trifled with us, hmm?”

On the other end, there was the sound of a muffled shuffling, followed by the sound of Vincent’s voice; “No, Ciel, Daddy needs that to talk to Uncle Undertaker—Please don’t drool on the mouth piece!”  
  
"Ghahhhh brububu!"  
  
The shuffling happened again and Vincent spoke up, a slight laugh in his voice, “I’m sorry, Junior wanted to say hi, I guess. he’s been pulling on the phone cords all week when I or Rachel are holding him while on the phone.”  
  
"Nananadoo!"  
  
"—Anyway, you said something about the man who killed you before the phone fell from my ear?"

Undertaker had to take a moment to compose himself. Suppressing snickers of amusement, he cleared his throat and tried again. “I was saying I think one of my sources may have found the assassin that got away that night. Fancy a fox hunt with me, love?”

"Well, Someone has to make sure you don’t die again." Vincent nodded, turning his head so that Ciel couldn’t reach the cord of the phone again, "Besides, It’ll be nice to spend time alone again as we rid ourselves of a danger to my family and those I care the most for."

"Excellent," said Undertaker with a predatory grin. "Just tell the missus we’re investigating an assignment. No sense worrying her when we don’t know for certain this is our bloke. I’ll know if it’s him when we find him…I’ve got his energy imprinted from that night and I saw his face. Maybe after we handle this, we can finally sit down and have that talk with her."

"Yes, She doesn’t need any more—Ciel, no here, play with this—she has her hands full as it is. she takes care of Ciel more than anyone. she doesn’t like the servants having him too long. I foresee him being quite the mother’s boy. When did you wish to go after him? this evening or afternoon?"

"Tonight," answered the mortician. "That should give you some time to prepare and explain to Lady Rachel. Meet at my shop at dusk, and we’ll have our hunt."

"Very well. I’ll have Tanaka prepare my carriage after supper."  
  
"Mmmmnah!" Ciel cooed as he played with his stuffed toy Vincent had given him.  
  
"It’d be nice if we could make things safe for Rachel and Ciel."

"We will," promised the reaper. Upon realizing what a shallow promise it was, he revised: "or as safe as can be expected, in this situation. I look forward to hunting this blood clot down with you, Earl. Toodles."  
  
He hung up the phone, and he wondered what had possessed him to promise safety to begin with. They were Phantomhives, and if his time working with their family had taught him anything, it was that none of them would ever truly be “safe”.

 

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, a carriage pulled up the street outside the reaper’s shop and the driver hopped from his bench to open the door for the Earl. Wearing a rather simple brown suit with a pinkish-peach ascot, Vincent stepped down and approached the door, thanking his driver and telling him that he would call for him later should he need a ride back to the manor.  
  
He pushed open the door, the bell over the door ringing as he entered. “Undertaker?”

"Back here, love," called the reaper’s voice from behind the curtain leading to his private living quarters.

Vincent walked between the lined coffins and ducked into the back, spotting his lover quickly. He walked up behind the reaper, slipping his arms around him in greeting and popping up onto his toes to press a kiss to the back of his neck where some skin was exposed from his hair being over his shoulders, “Evening.”

"Mmm, evening, my dear. That’s the sort of greeting I’ve missed."  
  
Undertaker stepped back and made a sweeping gesture at the table before him. Laid out on it was a plethora of weapons ranging from medieval flails, axes and dirks to more modern pistols and daggers.  
  
"Pick your poison. I know you favor your foils, but it never hurts to have a backup. Once you choose, we can have a spot of tea before we go."

"This is…quite the arsenal," Vincent observed with surprise. The man was a reaper, he would have assumed that that gigantic scythe with the thorns and skull on it would have been enough for him. It wasn’t a mortal blade, after all. It was what legions and stories of magic and lore were made of.  
  
Vincent had his Rapier strapped to his belt already and a dagger hidden in his boot in case he found himself too close to the man who had tried to kill him and his lover. But of course Undertaker was right. It’d be good to have a back-up, and he’d left his small hand gun at home with his wife. He had started to teach her to use it if she needed and it was small enough not to hurt her when she fired it. So, he scanned over the options presented to him. Finally, he chose a gun, slightly bigger than the one he kept under his pillow, in case he had to take the man out at a distance, and he held it up before slipping it into his inner pocket of his coat.

Undertaker grinned cunningly as he watched the young noble select his weapon of choice. “Sometimes a scythe is too quick. I can force information I need by cutting just enough to release a portion of cinematic records, but it’s more interesting to draw it out of them this way, my lord. The first fellow that came after you died too quickly for my tastes.”

"How Sadistic of you." Vincent smiled, taking his hand, "And have you chosen your weapon if your scythe is too quick?"

Undertaker chuckled and nodded. “Indeed, I have. It’s a surprise, though. You’ll see what it is once we’ve caught our quarry and subdued him.”  
  
He leaned in for a brief kiss, and he almost wished this visit was purely for frivolous purposes.

"Lets see about that tea," Vincent hummed against his lips, "Maybe if we find him fast enough we can celebrate in private? It’s…been a while."

"I’d like nothing better," agreed the reaper with a smile. "Be right back with the tea, my dear."

Vincent nodded and slipped over onto the soft black couch near the lit hearth, relaxing against it. He liked how he could ignore property around his lover and relax like he had when he was younger. Slouching in his spot rather than keeping a stiff back.

Undertaker returned with the beverages; already having prepared Vincent’s the way he knew he liked it. He sat down beside him and handed the steaming cup over, before relaxing with a sigh and giving the Earl’s left knee a familiar squeeze.  
  
"This is the one we’re after," he said between sips, "I’m certain of it. I hope you’re prepared to do whatever is necessary, love."

"My life is the target, but not the only one in danger. Rachel, Ciel…and he even made a very direct attempt upon your own life." Vincent sipped his tea and looked up at the reaper, "I take that seriously."

Undertaker smirked. “No doubt. That alone makes you a more dangerous man than he anticipated.”  
  
He stole a brief kiss from the Earl before sipping more tea. “We’ll visit his current place of employment, first. He’s working at the docks as his most recent cover. Seems he likes the low profile jobs; which is smart of the chap, I must admit.”  
  
Undertaker looked at him searchingly, measuring his resolve. “I’ve a plan to flush him out and get my jollies at the same time, but it requires some discomfort on your part.”

Vincent frowned, “What did you have in mind?” he inquired, lowering his teacup.

"Well, the bloke’s probably already heard about my miraculous return from the dead by now, but rumors have been surrounding me for decades. Some folk seem to think I’m a vampire, while others whisper that I’m a witch…tee-hee!"  
  
Undertaker coughed into his hand to control his laughter. “Anyhow, he wouldn’t suspect  _you_  of being a supernatural, even if some folk say you’re in a contract with the Devil. If he thinks you’re dead, he’s not likely to suspect you’ll rise again, and it might flush him out. He’d probably be livid if he thinks you’ve been shanked by some other assassin, after he failed to take you himself. Now, what I need is a disguise. All you need is to get into a coffin ‘till he reveals himself.”

"A coffin..? You want me to play dead?" he raised his eyebrow, "And just how am I to help take him down if I’m ‘dead’?" The Earl was, understandably, none too thrilled with the idea of being locked up in a cramped, dark coffin for who knew how long.

"Only long enough to take him by surprise," explained the mortician. "I’ve already prepared a special coffin for you; with a hole discretely drilled into either side for air. Seeing you wake from the dead might shock him enough to slow him down and subdue him before he can run."

"…I’d almost rather wear a dress and go walking the docks," Vincent muttered, picking up his teacup and sipping, "Very well. but how is he to hear tonight of my ‘untimely demise’?"

Undertaker laughed. “You traipsing around in a dress on the docks; that’s a sight I’d pay to see. To answer your question, my lord, I take your ‘body’ to the docks, disguised as a footman from your household. I tell them that you passed in the night, slain by a poison delivered by an unknown party into your food. Your body is to be sent to Belgium for the autopsy—as recommended by the dear ol’ Undertaker; who has an associate there that specializes in toxicology. If this fellow is working the docks like I suspect, he’ll catch wind of it and he won’t be able to resist having a peek for himself.”

"No offense, but you have a flawed plan. No matter what you wear you are a very recognizable man." Vincent pointed out, "Your hair, scars, eyes…"

Undertaker’s teeth flashed in a grin. He waved a hand over his face, and his nails retracted as he did so. When his hand completed the pass, the face looking back at Vincent was that of a stranger’s, with a completely different bone structure and smooth, unmarked skin.  
  
"Just a little trick I’ve learned over the years, Earl," he explained, brushing his pale bangs aside to gaze at him with remarkably human blue eyes. "How else do you think I traverse the Underworld for additional information, without my contacts realizing who I really am?"  
  
He held up his hand for inspection, displaying his shortened black nails. “Unfortunately, I can’t alter the color of my nails, skin or hair yet. Maybe I’ll never master it, but this should suffice. I can tuck my hair up underneath a top hat and wear gloves to hide my nails. Not even our ‘friend’ should be able to recognize my face…until I drop the illusion and it’s too late.”

Vincent stared at him, “I’m not sure I like that look. But I guess as long as you drop it before we come back afterwards…”

The reaper grinned again, pleased that his lover preferred his natural visage over the illusionary one; scars and all. He gave his knee another squeeze and he nodded. “This face will be gone, once it’s served it’s purpose. Now drink up, so we can prepare.”

"You just want to fit me in one of your custom coffins." Vincent smirked, finishing off his tea.

Undertaker chuckled into his cup, but his eyes lacked the usual sparkle of humor. “Actually, I’m trying to postpone the day when I’ll have to lay you in a casket for good, my love. It’s all fun and games ‘till it becomes a reality, and I don’t want that to happen for a long, long time.”

"I know." He got up and kissed the reaper, "But you do offer a custom coffin to nearly everyone you meet."

Undertaker looked up at him from beneath the curtain of his bangs. “But none of them means so much to me as yours, my dear.” He didn’t smile, indicating how seriously he took it.

Vincent hesitated, then bent over to press their lips together. His fingers stroked the reaper’s cheek gingerly as he whispered, “Don’t worry…you won’t have to see me to my grave tonight—or for a long time if either of us has anything to do with it.”

"Right," said the mortician, shaking himself out of the sentimental moment. "Let’s get me changed and you in the coffin. This should be a night to remember."

Vincent nodded, “Very well. I assume you have a footman’s uniform already, then?”

Undertaker nodded. “Indeed.” He stood up and he took the Earl’s cup to put it in the sink with his own for washing. “I’ll just be a moment.”  
  
He left the living room, put the teacups in the kitchen sink, and went into the bedroom to change into the suit and plain top hat he’d chosen for his costume. His illusion dropped as he changed into the ensemble, and he returned to the living room for Vincent’s inspection.  
  
Now dressed in a dandy footman’s uniform composed of a three-piece suit of dark blue and black, silver buttons and a silver pocket watch chained to the right vest pocket, he bowed cordially to the young lord. His long, silver hair nearly swept the floor before he straightened up again.  
  
"Well," said the reaper as he slipped on the dark gloves. "How do I look? Of course, it will be a more complete image once I stuff my hair under the hat and put on my ‘street face’ again."

"Very smart." Vincent stood up and walked over, tightening Undertaker’s tie slightly, "With one minor adjustment. A Phantomhive servant wouldn’t support a loose tie…at least that’s what my father always insisted." He smiled and looked up at him, "Do you need help with your hair, then?"

"If you like," said the reaper. He took a seat on the armchair sitting diagonal to the fireplace, and he held the hat in his lap as Vincent gathered up his flowing locks.

Giving the silver locks a small twist, Vincent gathered it upon his lover’s head and took the hat, carefully placing it over the gathered rope of hair and taking the time to push any stray hairs up under the rim before stepping back, “There.”

Undertaker felt around the brim and he nodded in satisfaction. “Nicely done.”  
  
He stood up and he waved a gloved hand over his face. His features blurred and shifted, again altering until they looked like a stranger’s.  
  
"Now for the fun part, my lord. Let’s get your coffin loaded into the carriage I’ve rented and get you nice and cozy inside."

They loaded the coffin into the rented carriage, and Vincent reluctantly climbed inside with Undertaker’s encouragement. The reaper climbed into the driver’s seat and snapped the reins to put the vehicle into motion.

On the ride, Vincent shifted uncomfortably in the coffin. the fit was snug and he had little room to move as he lay in the dark, surrounded by the silk lining. It didn’t take him long to decide that sleeping in a coffin was something he was eager to avoid as long as possible, and he had to wonder how Undertaker felt so comfortable in them himself. though his being Death itself might have a lot to do with that. He could only lay in wait for his cue to pop out of the coffin, ‘back from the dead’, as it would seem.

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker pulled up to the “drop off” area of the docks, and he hopped down to hitch the horses to a post. He tipped his hat to the two workers that approached, and he fought a wicked grin back when he recognized the aura of the younger one. He hadn’t quite expected him to make an appearance so soon; this would simplify things.  
  
"Good evening," he said in a smooth, polite voice, keeping his tone as somber as possible. "I’ve a body to load on the next ferry to Belgium."  
  
The younger one frowned slightly and studied his face, leaving the reaper to wonder if he partially recognized his voice despite his deliberately altered tone. He studied the man in return covertly, keeping his gaze mildly inquisitive. “I was told this was the correct dock to bring it.”  
  
The assassin’s face was as Undertaker remembered it, save for the mustache now adorning his upper lip. The older one flipped through a notebook with a frown. “I don’t see an invoice for any body in here. What’s the name?”  
  
"Of the deceased?" Undertaker’s brows went up with feigned surprise. "Why, it’s Earl Vincent Phantomhive, sir. Don’t tell me nobody called it in. The Undertaker insisted on having an associate in Belgium examine the body."  
  
His quarry immediately stiffened, eyes going to the back of the carriage. “Impossible,” he muttered.  
  
Undertaker suppressed another grin, doing his best to appear mildly offended and bereaved. “I assure you it is not, sir. The master of house Phantomhive passed away of poisoning, just this morning. The family mortician wants a second opinion from an associate of his who specializes in toxicology, before presenting his evidence to the Yard.”  
  
He dug into a pocket and secured a pouch of coin. “In fact, I have orders to offer incentive to keep this quiet. I expected someone to have already made the shipping arrangements, but they were meant to stress the importance of being discreet. The family and the yard don’t wish for word to get out about this, until the investigation is finished.”  
  
The older man took the pouch and weighed it in his hand before opening it for a look inside. “I reckon this will keep our mouths shut for a time, eh Jimmy?” He nudged his younger companion.  
  
"Jimmy" stared at the carriage. "I’d like to see the body."  
  
When his companion looked at him in perplexity, he shrugged. “We need to know what condition it’s in for the captain of the next vessel out.”  
  
The older one shrugged. “Fair enough; better you than me, at any rate. You hop in and have a look while I go and speak with the ferryman.”  
  
Undertaker watched the older one go, before giving his prey a polite nod and opening up the back of the carriage.  
  
"After you, sir."  
  
He couldn’t quite contain his grin as the assassin fell into the trap and climbed into the back. The reaper hopped up behind him nimbly and shut the door.  He took his hat off and allowed his mask to dissolve, revealing his true face. As the man stared at him with a sort of horrified recognition, Undertaker gave the verbal signal.  
  
"Surprise! I told you it wouldn’t be so easy to escape Death."

 

 

* * *

 

That was his cue. A little earlier than he had suspected, but that was it. Vincent shifted and moved to push up on the lid. It stuck. He pushed harder—still it didn’t budge.  
  
Panicking slightly, the earl attempted to heave as much of his weight he could up into the lid to jar it open.

 

 

* * *

 

Undertaker was oblivious to the Earl’s plight, for as soon as the assassin realized he was in a trap, he lunged for the door and plowed it open bodily.  With a curse, the reaper took off after him, trusting his companion to join the chase as soon as he climbed out of the coffin.

"I’m not finished with you yet," called the Undertaker, leaping through the air and soaring an impossible distance to cover twice the ground as his quarry.  He landed before the startled man, manifesting his death scythe with a wild grin.  Shaking his bangs aside, he stared into the human’s eyes with the promise of death in his gaze.  "It’s a bit different when I’m not crippled by toxins, wouldn’t you agree?"

The response to his question came in the form of a pistol firing from the hidden holster beneath the assassin’s coat.  Undertaker grimaced as the bullet pierced his lung and exited out back with a spray of blood.  “This uniform was a rental,” he coughed as his quarry took off running again, yelling for help.  With a muttered complaint, the reaper cloaked himself from mortal view and gave chase.  He’d gotten what he wanted; the assassin saw his face and knew who was coming for him.  It no longer mattered if he couldn’t see what was attacking him; he knew Death itself was on his trail.

 

 

* * *

 

Back in the coffin, Vincent began to panic, pushing as hard as he could on the stuck lid with the limited leverage he had, kicking the sides, and calling out; “UNDERTAKER! It’s stuck! Let me out!” but of course no reply met him. He heard nothing outside his confines and it began to dawn on him that he had been left alone.  _"UNDERTAKER!"_

The panic settling over Vincent kept growing, tears pricking his eyes. He was being irrational. he knew that somewhere in his mind. Undertaker would let him out. but it was taking too long. and what if Undertaker got hurt and fell into a healing sleep again? What if they thought he was dead and he was buried alive in this coffin he was trapped in? His fear only intensified at the thoughts and he lost track of that tiny whisper of rationalization.

 

 

* * *

 

Panting, yelling for help, the assassin waved his arms at the dockworkers as he passed by. They saw nothing chasing him, and they stared in confusion as he ran by.

Undertaker got ahead of his prey, touching down on the wooden planks and waiting with a grin on his face as the man who’d attempted to kill Vincent twice and himself once sprinted straight toward him. He braced himself for the impact and he laughed when the assassin ran flat into his chest with a startled “oof!”, bouncing off of him to land on his back.

  
Undertaker picked him up and yanked his wrists behind his back, pinning them in place so that he could bind them with the manacles he’d brought from his basement. The young man was yelling at the top of his lungs and struggling as he was hoisted over the invisible reaper’s shoulder.  
  
To onlookers, it appeared that the assassin was hovering in mid-air. They wanted none of it. Those nearby when Undertaker began to run back toward the carriage with his burden jumped aside hastily, spooked by the sight of the kicking, screaming man gliding through the air.  
  
Undertaker yanked open the carriage, knocked his captive out cold and searched around for his companion. “Vincent?”

"UN-DER-TAKE-R!" Vincent’s muffled voice, along with a few padded thuds came from the still closed coffin.

Undertaker frowned at the coffin, wondering why in the world Vincent was still inside of it.  He undid the latch and opened up the lid, his brows going up as he stared down at the gasping human.  Vincent was as white as a sheet.  “What are you still doing in  _there_ , love?”

Vincent sprang up, hugging the reaper tightly, trembling slightly, “It wouldn’t open!” he gasped into the reaper’s shoulder, his fingers gripping his jacket tighter.

Having never seen his lover like this; not even after the assassination attempts on him, Undertaker felt a moment of swift guilt. He must have forgotten about the safety lever inside the coffin, or else he’d failed to mention it to him. He so often forgot that mortals didn’t appreciate coffins as he did. Waking up in one himself after his coma, realizing he’d been buried hadn’t been as much fun as he would have expected. For Vincent to find himself trapped like that must have been terrifying.  
  
"There, there. You’re out, now. It’s a shame our plan didn’t go as intended, but at least we lured our quarry and captured him."  
  
Someone began to knock on the carriage door, demanding to know what was going on in there. Undertaker peeled the Earl off of him and dumped the unconscious assassin into the coffin, shutting and locking it before putting on his “street face”, stuffing his hair down the back of his coat and opening the door.  
  
"There’s been a mistake," he offered to the startled dock worker. He moved aside enough to reveal Vincent to view. "The earl wasn’t dead after all. He awoke in his coffin, so I’ll be returning him to the manor and calling on his physician to come and see him."  
  
With that said, he slammed the door shut, leaving the man gaping in shock. Turning back to Vincent, he smiled whitely. “Well now, my lord; ought to hurry and get our friend to my shop for interrogation. How we handle it after that is up to you.”  
  
He approached him and rubbed his arms. “Are you going to be all right, love?”

Vincent nodded stiffly, “F-fine…” his voice squeaked out and he cleared his throat, regaining his demur, Though he was still quite white and shaken.  
  
The earl let out a long sigh and sat on the coffin, resting his head back on the side of the carriage, “Remind me to say no to any future plans you have involving my getting into a coffin.”

"I’ll be sure to make a note of that," answered the reaper with amusement. "Sorry to put you through that, darlin’. Are you up to keeping an eye on our ‘guest’ while I drive us to the shop?"

Vincent nodded, “I still have my weapons, should he try anything.” He sighed and took a few deep breaths, the color starting to return to his face, “That did not go according to plan…”

Undertaker smiled.  “No, but it did work out in the end.  I’ll get us to our destination as quickly as possible.  If that fellow wakes up and starts a ruckus, feel free to pop him on the noggin again.”

With that said, the reaper exited the interior of the carriage and got back into the coachman’s seat.  He got the horses moving at a brisk pace, tearing through the streets of London as quickly as he could without running over pedestrians or attracting the attention of the police.  He trusted Vincent’s stoicism and ability to handle himself, but after such a fright, he didn’t want to leave it to chance.

 

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Once they arrived back at the Undertaker's shop, Vincent climbed out of the carriage, feeling calmer after the ride back. But they still had the assassin to deal with before he could truly relax for the evening, preferably with Undertaker himself.

Undertaker hopped out of the coachman’s seat, propped the door to his shop open and went around to the back and opened up the carriage. He climbed in and smiled sunnily at Vincent, seeing that there was no sign of a disturbance.  
  
"I hope I didn’t put the chap’s lights out for good when I knocked him out," he joked—though he would have sensed it if the prisoner had died. "Let’s get him inside, and I’ll take him out of the coffin and put him into the basement."  
  
With Vincent handling the other end of the casket, they maneuvered it out of the vehicle and carried it into the building. The reaper dropped his disguise then and he shut and locked the door, before liberating the assassin from the coffin and carrying him downstairs to be chained up in his laboratory.

Vincent followed Undertaker’s lead to the basement and sat down in a wooden chair at a workbench, “What now? we wait for him to wake up?”

Undertaker considered the man that was now chained securely to the ceiling. “Let’s take a break and have some tea. If he doesn’t come too in an hour…well, I’ve got ways to wake him up fast. He’ll go nowhere fast if he wakes while we’re upstairs, and I’d like to change into something more comfortable.”

"But it looks good on you." Vincent smiled, walking up behind him and slipping his arms around his waist, "I wouldn’t mind you in it longer."

The reaper grinned and put his hands over the Earl’s. “Then maybe I’ll wear it for a while longer…at least until it’s time to interrogate our friend.”

Smiling, the earl took his hand and lead him up to the main floor. “Lets take advantage of it, then.”

 

 

* * *

Undertaker sat down in his small parlor with Vincent, and he loosened the tie around his throat and removed it.  “Sorry, but that has to go,” he muttered.  He draped the item on the arm of the loveseat and looked at his companion.  “I don’t s’pose I’ll ever get used to dressing this way.  If it gets me a bit of sugar from you, however, I’d say it’s worth it.”

Vincent smiled and moved to straddle his lover, pressing a kiss to his lips, “You have something against ties, dear?”

Undertaker put his hands on the young man’s hips and rubbed them slowly.  “They’re too tight,” he complained in a murmur, “chafes my scar.” 

He traced the pale, thick tissue of the old battle wound encircling his throat with a long black nail, having allowed it to emerge with the others again now that his gloves were off.  He lightly scratched the material of Vincent’s trousers with his other nails.  “Fancy kissing it better for me, love?”

"Poor old man," Vincent teased, leaning forward to plant soft kisses along the scar, letting his lips linger longer each time until he found himself sucking lightly at the scarred flesh with a moan.

"It feels a bit better," whispered the reaper, "but it could use a bit more…"  
  
He grinned, loving the feel of Vincent’s lips on his throat. He was a little surprised that the Earl was so willing to play; what with being trapped in the coffin and the unsavory business they were sure to get up to with the man in the basement and all. Still, they hadn’t been together since the birth of his son and Vincent had toughened up. The short, brief intervals they enjoyed when they both had time couldn’t really hold a candle to a night of full-on snogging.  
  
"I’ve missed you," confessed the mortician as he tilted his head back to allow greater access to his throat.

"I know." Vincent smirked, running his tongue along the thin scar, "I’ve missed you, too." He had known once Ciel was born that he’d have less time to spend with his ancient lover, but he still felt he had been unprepared for just how little time they would have. And true, he was still a little shaken from the coffin, but this evening was a rare treat he would not let go to waste. Slipping his arms around Undertaker, he furthered his attack on the slender neck of his lover, nipping at it playfully.

Undertaker purred low in his throat, his pale lashes fluttering as his eyes shut in response to the kisses and nips.  He stroked Vincent’s dark hair and he completely forgot about the man awaiting their judgment in the basement.  He allowed his free hand to wander over the nobleman’s body, caressing and kneading the toned form beneath the layers of clothing. 

Unfortunately, their play was interrupted by the muffled shouts of their captive.  Undertaker sighed as the noise reached his ears.  Nobody on the street would hear it, but it was going to be damned distracting in the shop.  He looked up at Vincent as the straddling lord paused his seductions and cursed under his breath.  A smirk found its way onto the Undertaker’s pale lips.

"Business before pleasure, eh?"

"Always," Vincent huffed with an irritated sigh, "But I had hoped, for once, it’d be the other way around." he ran his fingers down along Undertaker’s cheek, jaw and neck, "Assassins ruin everything."  
  
With a smile, he pecked Undertaker’s smirking lips before pulling back and standing up, “Lets get business out of the way then, shall we, Undertaker?”

"Absolutely," agreed the reaper, his tone betraying his conflicting desires for lovemaking and vengeance.  He arose from the couch and together, the pair went down into the basement to interrogate their "guest".

 

 

* * *

"Let me out of here," cried the prisoner—or at least, that’s what he attempted to say.  The gag in his mouth made it come out as a muffled, incoherent babble.  He heard the door up the stairs creak open and he tensed as the Undertaker came down, appearing to glide like a ghost rather than walk like an ordinary man.  He was still dressed in his footman refinery, looking eerily dashing despite his long, shaggy silver hair and scarred visage.  He grinned cheerfully at his would-be assassin as he approached, and the prisoner recoiled instinctively.  No man should have survived what he’d done in the hedges, and yet this ghostly old man—who in truth looked to be no older than thirty in what could be seen of his face—had.

"Hullo, chap," greeted the mortician.  The sound of light, booted feet came from the stairwell as a second "walking corpse" came down to join him.  The Earl of Phantomhive stepped up beside his tall companion, his handsome features cool and unreadable in the dim light.

"What do you want?" the prisoner tried to demand.

Undertaker put a hand to his ear.  “What was that?  Oh, dear me…how rude of us.”  He turned to his companion and spoke in a conspiring tone.  “We aren’t going to get a lot of coherent answers from this get while he’s gagged, my lord.  Did you close the door to the basement on your way down?”

"I did." the earl said with a curt nod. his gaze hard—almost cruel as he turned it on the gagged assassin. ‘The Queen’s Watch Dog’, also known as ‘The Evil Nobleman’ to some. Those were also titles he had inherited from his father. The latter hadn’t ever appealed to him, but this man had not only put his wife and child danger in his attempts on his life; but also took his lover away—or would have if Undertaker was mortal. He would not take that lightly, and finally, he saw the appeal in being ‘The Evil Nobleman’.  
  
He knew he had the means to live up to the title. He had, after all, before made his father proud with his ways in school. Manipulating the other, powerful students around him to serve his needs. And now—he had real reason for it.  
  
Vincent stepped over to the man, reaching up and nearly smirking at the look in the man’s eyes as he reached up and none-too-gently ripped the gag from his mouth. The dirty cloth falling limp in his gloved hand.  
  
As the man opened his mouth to spew words of protest and likely, insults and threats, Vincent held a finger up to his lips. “I’d be incredibly careful in what you say, if I were you.”

Undertaker left his companion to it, trusting him to deal with the prisoner in his own way. While Vincent interrogated him, the reaper went behind the curtain to change clothes.  
  
"No matter what I say, I’m sure as dead," replied the assassin.

"There are worse things." Vincent responded in a calm, menacing tone, "And it is not below me to go that far. I found you, did I not? I have the means and resources to do as I promise." He leaned in closer, "But enough of that. Lets cut to the chase. Who hired you to kill me?"

The captive glared sullenly, his hazel eyes flicking to the Undertaker as the reaper stepped back out in his usual attire.  Undertaker lifted his eyebrows and plopped his hat on, before tilting his head and crossing his arms over his chest.  His fingernails had elongated again, and he drummed them absently over the material of his long sleeves. 

"The man asked you a question," supplied the mortician.  "The polite thing to do would be to answer it."

"Go to hell, you ghastly freak!"

Undertaker covered his mouth with one hand and coughed into it, chuckling.  “My, my…someone’s a sore loser.  It seems I’ll have to get out my tongue loosener.”

With a wink at the Earl, Undertaker went to the opposite side of the room and turned a crank.  Chains rattled as something came down from the ceiling, and he walked back over to the prisoner and turned him around so that he could see it.  The assassin’s eyes widened at the sight of the giant meat hook, and he began to struggle as the Undertaker reached up to free the manacles holding his wrists over his head from the chain in the ceiling.

"You can survive for quite a while, skewered like a carcass for butchering," assured the reaper.  He grunted when the man kicked out with his knee and hit him in the ribs.  Fortunately, the manacles binding his ankles weighed his legs down and weakened the hit.  "Of course, your lungs will start to fill with blood after a bit, and that will make it difficult for you to answer our questions.  Not impossible, though."

"Wait," begged the assassin, "Th-the one who gave the order didn’t give me his name, but he said it came straight from the Queen!  He…he had a letter with her seal and everything!"

Undertaker stopped, the grin vanishing from his pallid lips.  He looked over at Vincent, not entirely surprised to hear that Her Majesty was involved.  “The Queen, you say?”  He looked at their guest again, his cold death’s grin returning.  “You wouldn’t  _lie_  to us about that, would you?”

The assassin shook his head convulsively, his terrified gaze fixated on the meat hook.  “It’s the honest to God’s truth!  It weren’t nothing personal…I was just doing as I was told!”

Vincent sighed. The Queen. this may just be the proof they needed that the queen had already deemed him too knowledgeable about her and her dealings. The thought almost made him let out a curse.  
  
He held it back though, and grabbed the man’s hair, forcing him to look at him. “And what did this letter say? I assume you destroyed it? It would have been stupid of you not to.”

"Th-the letter had the royal seal on it," stammered the assassin. "I don’t know what it said!"  
  
"Then how do you know you were even meant to kill Lord Phantomhive?" Demanded the Undertaker with a frown.  
  
"Because he told me so!"  
  
Undertaker looked at Vincent, and he sighed before addressing the prisoner. “Something stinks here, and it’s not just the fishy smell clinging to your clothes.”  
  
"I was ordered by the messenger to take care of the Earl," insisted the man. "He paid me half of the fee, and he said I’d get the rest after the job was done. He said his orders came from Her Majesty. Find him and you may find the letter!"

"Strange you would take a man on his word and not insist to read the orders yourself. A seal can be forged." Vincent sighed and glanced at Undertaker, "Tell us, what did he look like? This isn’t going well for you, by the way. You best find something to catch my interest. I don’t think I need to tell you how my associate can be in this situation."

Undertaker cracked his knuckles and grinned maniacally. 

The man going by the name of Jimmy looked between the two of them, and he licked his lips.  “I can’t read,” he admitted. 

Undertaker’s brow lifted.  “I somehow doubt that.  The royals would never hire an illiterate bum to take down the Queen’s own guard dog.  That’s a nice yarn you’re trying to spin, though.”

"You don’t need to know how to read to shoot a weapon or stab someone," insisted the prisoner.

"But keeping track of your quarry without the ability would be a chore, without it," reasoned the mortician.  "Keep trying to convince us if you want to, though.  I think it’s time we hang you up."

The man cast a look of sincere dread at the meat hook, and he shook his head.  “He…he had dark hair!  The letter said something about in the interest of the Crown and Her Majesty, Lord Phantomhive must be eliminated.  Maybe it didn’t come directly from the Queen, but one of her advisors…I don’t know!  I just know it had the seal on it.”

"You’ll have to do better than that, chap," advised Undertaker.  "There are hundreds of dark-haired men in this city.  What did his face look like?  Was he old?  Young?  Middle-aged?"

"Middle-aged, I think," answered the prisoner.  "Said to call him Phillip, but I’m sure that wasn’t his real name.  He had a French accent.  Maybe he wasn’t really from the Queen…maybe he was a spy sent to get rid of one of her vassals…I don’t know!"

Undertaker had to give him credit: that was a plausible theory.  The Queen did have enemies in neighboring countries, after all, and the Phantomhive name had gained a reputation all through Europe.  He looked at his lover and he jerked his chin toward the stairwell.  “My lord, a word alone, if you please.  Be a dear and put his gag back in before we go up…we wouldn’t want his cries drawing attention from the street while the door is open, even briefly.”

Vincent hesitated, but nodded and took his advice before following him. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” he asked once they were upstairs in the hallway.

"I think he’s accustomed to bending the truth to suit him," said the reaper.  "While torturing him to bring it out would be a barrel of laughs, it’s going to take time and we can’t be certain how much of it’s honesty and how much is fabrication.  There is one way to find out immediately, of course.  I haven’t suggested it yet because…well, I’m sadistic."

"You know as well as anyone the real title my father left to me. It’s about time I live up to it. It may save Rachel, Ciel, and you from harm if I prove that I’m just as capable as my predecessor. I’m not a school boy anymore, I’ll do as is needed."

Undertaker chortled with laughter.  “Actually, I didn’t suggest it right away because it would be too quick to suit me, but what I’m actually hinting at is that I can retrieve the information we need through his cinematic records.  I can access them without killing him, if you prefer—leave him alive to suffer whatever punishment you see fit.  I’ll leave it up to you whether he goes to the Yard or leaves this place in itty bitty pieces, but the best way to glean truthful information about the nature of his contract and who put him up to it is through my death scythe.”

"We may have to. And either way, I want to make sure he could never target another life. Like I said. there are worse things than death." There was an uncommonly cruel edge to Vincent’s voice as he glanced back to the man, "He could have poisoned Rachel instead of you that evening. His bullet could have hit her. I’d hate to seem heartless to you, but she is my wife and the mother of my son. She should not be put in danger because of who I am. I need to make an example of someone. If he dies and leaves here in bits, no one would know."

"So it’s to be maiming, then?"  Undertaker nodded in approval at the thought.  "We could cut off his hands and gouge out his eyes, but I’ll leave that bit up to you to decide."

He took a step back, and he manifested his formidable scythe.  “My task is getting the truth out of him before we take out our insurance on his body parts.  You can either join me as I make the cut, or you can sit this out and wait for me to get what I need.  Either way is fine with me, love.”

"I’ll come with you. I find what you can do with that thing…interesting." Vincent thought back to when he first saw Undertaker release a person’s records, "You’re face looks so calm when you do it."

The reaper chuckled.  “Well, I’ve been doing it for a bloody long time.  A body gets used to it, after a while.”  He gestured at the door leading to the basement stairs.  “After you.”

Vincent nodded and slipped back down, rounding on the would-be-assassin, “I’m afraid we can’t take you at your word, and will have to employ other means to get this information from you.” he said simply, tugging his gloves on tighter, “Then we shall see to your punishment.”

The assassin stared between him and the Undertaker, eyes widening at the sight of the deadly, skull-topped scythe in the mortician’s hands.  “What are you doing,” he tried to yell around the gag.  He struggled against his bonds desperately as the pale, grinning, silver-haired man approached him with the scythe.  Dampness spread over the crotch of his pants as his bladder failed him, and a scream rose in his throat when the tall mortician stood before him and lifted the weapon.

"Messy chap," scolded the Undertaker, nodding at the stain of urine on his crotch.  "Have some dignity, would you?  This will only hurt a lot."

The scream ended in a choked sound as the reaper cut right through the prisoner’s shirt and into his stomach with the tip of his scythe.  Undertaker ignored the man’s writhing, and he caught hold of the reel of life events that spilled out with the cut, examining it with interest.  He found the event he was specifically looking for and he narrowed his eyes in concentration, paying special attention to it.  The man had indeed been approached by one of the royal staff; Undertaker recognized the face.  He’d seen the man before in Buckingham Palace, and he knew he was one of the Queen’s advisors.  He watched him hand over a handsome pile of currency to the assassin, and he saw the envelope with the royal seal in his hand.

Undertaker watched several more moments of the cinematic record, until he was satisfied that he had all of the information he needed.  He stepped back and nodded at the Earl, finished with his handiwork. 

"He’s all yours, my lord.  I have the information we need."

"Good." Vincent said, removing his simple brown jacket, vest and shirt. He hadn’t expected the need of doing something messy, and brown wouldn’t work in hiding any blood. So, half naked, still in his brown trousers and black gloves, he borrowed one of Undertaker’s black work aprons he had hanging on the wall, and used it to protect his slacks.  
  
Selecting one of Undertaker’s larger surgical knives, he held it up, the candlelight glinting off it’s blade and successfully catching the man’s attention.  
  
"I’ve never had to do the dirty jobs myself before…" he said in a dark, smooth voice, "I had hoped to stay innocent a little longer, but you came close to killing my pregnant wife a couple of times in your aim to kill me… I see no shame in becoming the man my father expected me to become because of that." he turned to face the man, "Don’t worry…you shan’t be killed. but you won’t be able to pose a threat to anyone after this night, either." He looked at Undertaker, "Can you lower him so I can reach his hands more easily?"

"Absolutely," agreed the reaper.  When the prisoner began to struggle and shout in protest, he clicked his tongue and retrieved the discarded gag to fit it back between his teeth.  "A coward on all accounts.  You ought to try to put at least a little effort into maintaining some dignity, chap."

He reached up to adjust the fitting mechanism on the chains and he lowered them a bit, allowing the man’s shackled feet to touch the floor, while still keeping his arms secured over his head.  Satisfied that he was in position, Undertaker turned to his companion.  “There’s a stepping block over there that I use to stand on, when I need to reach high places.  You can use that while you work to give you added height.”

He looked at the instrument that Vincent had selected, and he walked over to his tray and unwrapped a few others.  Selecting the bone saw, he brought it to him.  “I’d recommend this for your intentions, my lord.  Otherwise you’ll wear out your arms trying to cut through the bone.  Use the surgical knife when you want to cut through soft tissue and sinew.”

Vincent felt his cheeks heat slightly, “Thank you…” he mumbled to the reaper. He didn’t know the inner workings of the human body, and he had assumed that the wrist would have been a weak spot. But Undertaker likely did know what he was talking about, given his age and chosen profession. So, he took the saw and stepped up on the block to boost himself up a bit more, looking down at Undertaker as he found himself suddenly just a little taller than the man. He then turned to their assassin and took hold of his trembling hand to hold it still as he got to work, blood running down the man’s arms as the blade sliced into flesh at the wrist, and muffled screaming filled the dimly lit basement.

Undertaker stood back and watched with a critical eye as his lover hacked the assassin’s hands off at the wrists, bit by bit.  There was a grimace of determination on Vincent’s face—which was getting splattered by the blood that spurted as he cut through the arteries.  He was getting through it quickly enough for a novice, but the more practiced reaper suspected their victim would go into shock rather quickly.  He avoided saying anything to the Earl, letting him finish that part of the job until the man fell free of the overhead chains, landing in a wretched, writhing heap on the floor.  His hands remained dangling in the manacles for a moment, twitching.  One of them fell sideways and dropped to the floor next to its previous owner.

"Cauterize the wounds," instructed the Undertaker, "or he’ll bleed out and we may lose him."  He nodded at the stone hearth in the corner of the room, where he’d left a cauterizing iron heating while waiting for the prisoner to wake up.  It looked somewhat like a giant, thick spatula, designed for the flat part to be pressed against bleeding wounds to seal them.  He would ordinarily rather employ pressure techniques and antibiotics to treat the living, were he trying to save them, but this man didn’t deserve that courtesy.

With a grim, serious look on the young earl’s face that had he seen himself would have reminded him of his father, Vincent retrieved the tool and did as he was instructed.  
  
Part of him couldn’t believe what he was doing, but he knew he had to if he was going to protect his family. It was for Rachel and Ciel’s future. Not his own. If it were only his life at stake, then he’d simply have the man killed.

More tortured screams emerged from behind the gag as Vincent took the hot tool by the insulated handle and scorched the flesh to cauterize it.  His reaper companion watched, nodding silently in approval with a grin of satisfaction steeling over his face.  He dropped his ghastly smile when Vincent turned to put the tools back, forcing his face into an expressionless mask.

"Anything else you’d like to do before we toss him out, my lord?"

Vincent crouched down, grabbing the man’s hair and forcing him to look up at him, “That depends…on how loose his tongue may be once we hand him over to the Yard.”

The prisoner whimpered, blood trickling from his lips from biting his own tongue in his agony.  “I…told you…everything I know!  Please…no more!”

Undertaker considered reminding Vincent that he’d already gotten the information from his cinematic records, and it more or less matched up.  He was enjoying the assassin’s pain and fear too much to bother, however, so he left it to his lover to decide how far this went.

"That’s not what I meant. We have what we need from you. but the Yard…" he leaned in closer, "We don’t need you telling them so much. Could you hold your tongue or should I remove it for you?"

The mortician felt like a fool for failing to consider that, and behind Vincent’s back, he face-palmed.  He’d gotten so caught up in his delight over the assassin’s torment that he hadn’t even thought of the Yard hearing the gory details of how this man lost his hands or what he knew of the Queen’s plot.  While he was fairly sure most of the Yard weren’t involved in her plotting, there was a chance some of them were and it wouldn’t do for word to get back to Her Royal Highness that the Earl knew she’d sent someone to kill him.

"I…I won’t say  _anything_ ,” promised Jimmy. 

"And how can I trust that?" Vincent asked.

Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest, a tiny smirk adorning his pale lips.  “I don’t think you can, my lord.  He was quick enough to betray details of the contract he’d made to finish you off.”

"Won’t…tell anyone," slurred the assassin, groggy with pain and shock.

"The Earl has a wife and child to think about," reminded the mortician relentlessly.  "Seems a shallow promise to make to a man you’ve already tried to bury twice.  Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?"

He looked at Vincent calmly, giving him complete autonomy over the situation.  He didn’t want to see that innocence in him die completely, but he needed to know he could be as ruthless as his enemies were, when he had to.  His enjoyment of the assassin’s predicament faded, and inside, a part of him began to mourn.

Vincent fell silent, looking down at the man as he thought. True. He did have his family to think of. and any story the man may weave, even if he isn’t trusted, would reflect upon he and his family. and if the Queen should hear? No. he had to keep the man silent.  
  
"…Hold his tongue." he said in a monotone, regret dulling his eyes.

Quietly aching for him even as he applauded his resolve, Undertaker went to the instrument tray and picked up a pair of forceps.  The victim was pleading now…sobbing and swearing he’d never talk.  Undertaker watched not him, but Vincent as he approached the crumpled amputee and grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head back.  He pried his jaw open roughly and he ignored the screams as he inserted the forceps into his mouth and caught his tongue, despite its efforts to escape the probing instrument.  Keeping it firmly grasped, Undertaker nodded at the tray where the surgical knife lay waiting.

"Quick is best, unless you want to draw it out a bit to make him suffer," said the mortician.

Vincent shook his head, “This is just to protect my family, not to punish him further.” he admitted, picking up the knife and bringing it to the man’s tongue. He paused, closing his eyes and taking a breath before opening them and in one swift movement, severed the muscle from the man’s mouth. he then tossed the knife back on the tray and turned away, trying to tune out the man’s cries of pain. “Do we need to do anything to stop the bleeding?”

"I’ll take care of cauterizing it, Earl," said the Undertaker.  "You executed your task perfectly.  Leave the cleanup to me, and then I’ll arrange for our ‘friend’ to be dropped off at the Yard.  What happens to him after that is of no consequence."

Vincent nodded and removed the apron and washed his hands in the sink before picking up his discarded clothes, “I’ll make use of your bath, then.” he said in a strained tone, “I’ll be out shortly.”

Undertaker watched him go, and he resisted a sigh.  There went the last shred of Vincent’s innocence, and he’d played a large part in it.  He only hoped that it wouldn’t corrupt him—that Vincent’s strength of character would win out and not die with that innocence.  He looked at the wreck of a man gagging on the floor, and he went for the smaller cauterizing tool waiting in the fireplace.  The sooner he got rid of the assassin and cleaned up the mess, the better.

For convenience sake rather than mercy, the mortician measured out a syringe of sedative and he injected the assassin with it, quickly and efficiently.  The miserable sobs died and the eyes glazed over as the drug did it’s work, and Undertaker was able to finish up without any resistance or noise from his captive.  

 

 

* * *

The young earl sighed, washing the blood off himself. What a mood killer the evening’s activities had turned out to be. And he regretted it and hated what he’d forced himself to do so coldly. No matter how justified he was in his actions, he couldn’t help but mourn over what he’d become.  
  
And he wondered if his father and grandfather before him had also felt the same when they had finally embraced the title of ‘The Evil Nobleman’. He hoped so. Because if he was the only one then maybe he was weak.  
  
Once he was clean, he lifted himself from the warm, red water and toweled himself dry. He slipped back into his clothes and emptied the tub before walking back out to see his lover. Maybe Undertaker could help him forget for a time…help make it easier to face Rachel later when he returned home.

 

 

* * *

The Undertaker finished helping his associates to load the unconscious man into the cart, and he glanced up and down the dark, London street.  “Take him straight to the Yard; no pit stops.  Tell them you found the bloke in this state and you don’t know how he got that way, just as I told you.”

The driver nodded, and his companion hopped up beside him in the front.  “Right, sir.”

Undertaker slapped the side of the wagon and they were off.  He watched them vanish into the fog rolling in from the harbor, and he looked over his shoulder at his shop when they were gone.  The Earl could probably use a spot of tea, right about now.  The amputated bits would go straight to cremation and get dumped in a flower bed.  The man himself…well…he’d likely wind up a beggar in the end, if he didn’t starve to death.  Those once in his circle would hear of his misfortune, and they’d think twice about taking a contract on Vincent Phantomhive.

It wouldn’t take a genius to guess how he’d been maimed, to those who knew his real trade.  He couldn’t tell the Yard what happened to him, either through words or writing, and his associates weren’t likely to come to his rescue now that he was a cripple.  The Queen would likely have the matter investigated, though, and that was where Undertaker’s new trick came in.  He snickered at the thought.  When Her Majesty’s spies found the maimed assassin—and there was no doubt they would—they would interrogate him as best they could, to find out what he said to whom about his contract.

Of course, Undertaker had taken the liberty to…play…with the man’s cinematic records a bit.  He’d replaced himself and Vincent with two of the Queen’s men that he’d seen the assassin interacting with in the unblemished records.  He’d recall the entire, agonizing event, but as far as he knew, the man who gave him the letter and contracted him was the one to maim him…and in Undertaker’s place was a palace informant who had asked him how the job was going, on more than one occasion.  This would lend the impression that he’d been maimed by the Queen’s own for his failure, not only as penance but to keep him from talking to the wrong people.

He hadn’t told Vincent as much, though.  He wasn’t sure he could  _do_  that with the cinematic records until the idea came to him while preparing the man for transport, and it was very important that the Earl be willing and able to be as ruthless as necessary to protect himself and his family.

The reaper sighed.  He wished he could have spared Vincent that task; wished he could have done all the dirty work, altered the victim’s memory and sent him on his way without his lover ever having to pick up a knife.  The flashes of imagery came to him again, and he shook his head, tucking his pale hands into the long sleeves of his garments.  It was too late.  What was done was done, and if nothing else, tonight had proven to them both that Vincent was indeed capable of getting his hands dirty, if he had to.

"Tea," reminded the ancient to himself.  "And biscuits.  Time to put the unpleasant business behind us and look to the future."

Adjusting his top hat, the mortician went back inside and locked his door up tight.  He heard Vincent finishing up in his bathroom as he heated the kettle, and he called out to him.  “All finished, love.  You can relax in the parlor while I prepare the tea.”

"I’d rather not…" Vincent said, slipping into the kitchen and walking up behind his immortal lover, "I’ve been left alone to my thoughts long enough."

Undertaker turned to look at him.  Forgetting about the tea for now, he reached out to stroke his dark, still-damp bangs from his eyes.  He could tell him he did what was right by him.  He could remind him that the world was a cruel place and good folk often got caught up in having to do bad things to survive—but he could see by the look in his brown eyes that he wouldn’t be telling him something he didn’t already know.

"How can I make it better for you, my dear?" whispered the reaper.  "Comfort isn’t my strong point, so tell me how to give it to you." 

In a display of what most would say was weakness, Vincent flung himself into Undertaker’s arms, hugging him close, “Just…be here for me.” he whispered.

The reaper staggered slightly under the sudden embrace, and he smiled and returned it, stroking Vincent’s back.  Perhaps that compassion that drew him to Vincent hadn’t died in the basement, after all. 

"My dear, kind noble," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against Vincent’s.  "Whatever is a reaper to do with you, hmm?"

He pulled away just enough to look Vincent in the face, aching for him through his smile.  “And whatever have you done to make this old fart give a toss?  I’m at a loss for it.  You’ve survived, though.  You’ve made it through your test, and the thing that makes you ‘Vincent’ is still there.  I’m…proud.” 

"It doesn’t make me weak?" Vincent asked, tilting his head back to look up at the reaper, "Even if you are the only one to see this side of me?"

"You’re strong where it counts," assured the mortician.  "You show the world one face, while keeping the truth inside." 

Undertaker placed an ivory-pale hand flat over Vincent’s chest, peering at him through the cover of his bangs.  “A weakling wouldn’t have been able to do what you did down there, and still keep hold of who he really is.”

"It wasn’t what I had expected." Vincent shook his head, "Not that I knew what I expected—but not that."

"It never is," mused the reaper.  "Mind you, my memory is faded in some places, but I remember my first reaping well…oh, yes."

He sighed and stared off into the distance, his voice changing to that deep, dulcet murmur it fell into when abandoning his mortician guise.  “Granted, it’s not entirely the same thing, but similar enough.  You go to your task with expectations, imagining what it’s going to be like when you do it; but once you actually get down to it, what you had planned is nothing like what actually happens.”

He shook himself out of it and he took his hat off, dropping it on the rack by the curtains.  Undertaker kept hat racks throughout his shop and home for convenience.  He shook his bangs out of his eyes and he cupped Vincent’s chin, lightly running his thumb over his jaw. 

"It will stay with you, my dear.  Probably until the day you die…but always remember that you had a purpose behind it; one that you needed to fulfill.  You didn’t know your own mettle for sure, until you did that."

The earl gave a small nod, “I did it for Rachel and Ciel…and any other children Rachel and I may have in the future. I did it for my family.  That is the only thought that let me actually go through with it.” he paused and studied his lover’s face, “I did it for you, as well. You may be an immortal being, but you are my lover.  If something happens to me before my old age, you would suffer; and so it was to protect you from that, at least.”

The reaper smiled.  “You know, you’re the first person who’s tried to protect me from anything in…well…a very, very long time.”

He closed the distance between their lips, bending his head to kiss Vincent softly.  He spoke in a quiet murmur against Vincent’s mouth as he broke the kiss.  “First you arrange a funeral for me, and now this.  Of course there’s the nipper and the Lady Rachel too, but I’ve got to bask a little in the effort to include me in who you want to protect.”

"Why wouldn’t I include you? Rachel would want me to as well," Vincent whispered, snaking his arms around Undertaker, "You are a part of our family."

"Right, I’m the ‘funny uncle’," teased the mortician with a grin.  He returned the embrace and gave Vincent a little squeeze.  "I s’pose I’m just not used to being thought of that way, darlin’."

"That’s what makes it all the more special." Vincent smirked, already starting to forget that evening’s activities and starting to enjoy the moment. He pulled himself up to reconnect their kiss, only to be interrupted by the whistling of the tea kettle.

"Ah, bugger," grumbled the reaper.  "Hold that thought, love.  I’ll get that."

Undertaker went over to the kettle and he lifted it off the cast iron stove, putting it on the stone cooler.  “Are you still not in the mood for tea, Vincent?”  His usual smile had returned in his relief to see that his Earl was still…well, his Earl.

"I never said no to tea…just to waiting in the other room alone with my thoughts." Vincent pointed out, moving to get out two cups from the shelf above the sink. "I intend to spend my time with you tonight as we haven’t had the chance in quite a while. Rachel knows my intentions of not being home tonight."

Undertaker nodded, quite happy to have him all to himself for the night—even though he wished the circumstances were less grim.  He poured the tea into the cups Vincent sat out on the counter, and he put the pot back on the stone disc.  “Of course, my dear.  Your company is always more than welcome.”

He took out the sugar bowl and lifted the lid off of it, before getting a spoon from a drawer.  “I’m all out of cubes, I’m afraid, but it’s all still sugar to me.  You don’t have my sweet-tooth, though.”  He grinned at the Earl, who had often teased him about rotting his perfect white teeth out, if he didn’t cut down on the sweets.

"Yes, well, I’m surprised your teeth aren’t all gone by now." Vincent goaded, scooping one small spoonful of sugar into his cup.

The mortician waited until he finished, before scooping three heaping teaspoons into his own cup.  “Fortunately for me, tooth-rot isn’t an issue with my kind.”  He gave a deliberately smug look.  “I can have all the lollies and sugar my black little heart desires, thank you very much.”

"Well, aren’t you lucky." Vincent said, picking up his cup in one hand and taking the reaper’s hand in the other to lead him to the sitting room.

"Not so lucky," mused the reaper, suddenly feeling a morose sweep of reality.  "I linger on, while those I dare to love…well, that’s neither here nor there, right now."

He followed Vincent into the sitting room and took a seat on the couch beside him, crossing his booted legs.  “Enough doomsaying, tonight.  I think we’ve both had our fill.”

"More than our fill." The earl agreed, settling down on the sofa and forgoing the idea of being proper as he slouched back and when Undertaker joined him, he leaned over against the man, "At least for me."

The mortician stroked Vincent’s drying hair with one hand, while holding his cup with the other and sipping from it.  He could have apologized for his part in the Earl committing an act that would likely cause him nightmares for years to come, but that would be useless.  He  _did_  have something else to apologize for, though.

"Sorry I forgot to tell you about the safety switch on that coffin, love.  I didn’t realize we didn’t cover that particular detail until after the fact."

"Yes…that would have been ideal to know." Vincent agreed, "Should have tested it as well." he sipped his tea and shifted to look up at the reaper, a teasing tone drifting into his voice, "But I hope that it satisfied any desires to see me in one of your custom coffins."

Undertaker snickered lightly, dropping an arm around the Earl’s shoulders to give him a squeeze.  “It did indeed, m’lord.  It did indeed.”

 

 

* * *

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Vincent tipped back the rest of his tea, now cooled off to the point where he was glad it was gone, and set the cup aside on the table before turning to smile at Undertaker. The two had talked while they drank, and the Earl felt calmer again, even playful since the topic had changed drastically since their first cup of tea they shared. “It’s gotten quite late…” he observed, running his fingers through long locks of silver.

"Indeed, my lord," answered the reaper in a soft undertone.  He turned his head to face his young lover, and he put his cup aside as well.  "Fancy a night cap?"

His pulse was quickening with intrigue, but he resisted the impulse to be too assertive with his guest.  After all, Vincent had just committed acts that went against his basic nature.  Undertaker would wait for a sign, before acting on his desire for him.

The Earl shook his head, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his jaw, “I’m not that tired yet,” he whispered.

That was the signal, and that was good enough for the Undertaker.  He turned his head to capture his lover’s softly kissing lips with his own, having gone too long without his touch.  He scooted the coffee table forward carelessly to get it out of the way as he embraced him completely, tongue seeking entrance to the velvety lips pressed against his.

"Ahh…nnnm…" Vincent leaned back, falling onto his back across the sofa, pulling his lover along with him before sliding his hands over his shoulders and down to the row of buttons along Undertaker’s chest, "It’s…been too long…" he complained.

"So it has," agreed the reaper just as breathlessly.  He likewise began to unravel the Earl’s finery, eager to bare his body to his sight.  He moved his lips away from Vincent’s, tasting a hint of aftershave as he ran his tongue over the close-shaved jaw.  He got his vest and shirt open and he stroked one determined hand over the exposed skin, delighting in the feel of lithe muscle and smooth skin.

"I could easily forget my manners," he rasped huskily, forgetting whom he was speaking to, "and bang you right here."

Vincent flushed, “No one is here to put a show on for,” he whispered, “No servants to worry about overhearing, as well…it’s just the two of us.” He moaned, rubbing his body up against Undertaker’s lewdly. “…So in your own words…you could just ‘bang’ me right here.”

Undertaker groaned, feeling his tailored pants growing uncomfortably tight in the crotch.  He pressed the bulge of his arousal against Vincent’s thigh, and he bit down lightly on his shoulder before thinking.  He stopped immediately, realizing he was going to leave a mark for Rachel to find.  The dear lady was quite aware of their relationship and she accepted it, but that didn’t mean he needed to flaunt it.  He licked the spot soothingly as he pinched the Earl’s right nipple.

"God I’m randy," he admitted in a purring murmur.  "I think it’s unfair that you have your lady wife to see to your needs when we’re apart, but I only have my hand.  Tsk, tsk."

"You give me too much credit, Undertaker. She and I haven’t since Ciel was conceived." He moaned, finally opening the last layer the reaper wore and exposing his chest to run his hands over, "You’re going to make me jealous of your hand, however." he teased lightly.

"No need to be jealous of the hand, love," assured the reaper with a grin, letting said hand slip lower, over the taut muscles of Vincent’s abdomen and below the navel.  He traced the fine trail of hair that disappeared beneath his belt, then the zipper of his pants.  "Right now, it’s focused on you." 

Undertaker cupped the swell of his lover’s crotch, giving it a gentle squeeze and a rub before working the button of the trousers open and tugging the zipper down.  “Both hands are going to be giving you a  _lot_  of attention tonight, my dear.” 

The earl moaned, savoring the feel of his lover’s attentions, “I look forward to it.” He ran his fingers through his lover’s hair and shifted his weight so that his slacks could be removed more easily. “As I intend to have my own do the same with you.”

"Good," purred the Undertaker, sitting up for a moment to help the other man out of his trousers.  "I’d have sulked, otherwise." 

He dropped the garment carelessly on the floor, and he stroked Vincent’s bared legs for a moment before shrugging out of his jacket and shirt.  He eyed the prone noble with appreciation as Vincent did the same, and within moments, the Earl was gloriously nude.  Undertaker undid his trousers and shoes, kicking the latter off carelessly.  One of the shoes went flying into the wall, striking a painting and knocking it down.  He considered getting up to replace it on its hook, but he shrugged his pale shoulders and decided to leave it.

"I can’t bring myself to give a toss about the picture, with you lying there in naught but your birthday suite," he said.  He unfastened his pants and wriggled out of them hastily, his erection springing free as he pulled them down and kicked them off.  Grinning with delight at his lover, the reaper stretched out on top of him again and kissed him, his stiffened arousal pressing intimately against the Earl’s. 

"Mmm…what painting?" Vincent hummed against pale lips, a hand tangling in silver hair as the other slid down along Undertaker’s side, following his curves and gripping his hip. "There’s only one thing in the world right now…and I intend to enjoy it distraction-free."  
  
Chest flush against chest, abs against abs, the nobleman pressed his body to the reaper’s his lips, trailing kisses wherever they happened to touch cool pale skin, tugging on his earlobe with his teeth.

"I honestly can’t recall," answered the reaper, his voice muffled against the smooth skin he’d begun to worship in return.  He squirmed down a bit to give himself more room, his mouth leaving a moist trail of kisses over the Earl’s throat, collar bone and pectorals. 

He couldn’t even begin to describe how much he’d missed this contact.  He intended to make it last, and thus he avoided touching the more intimate places of Vincent’s anatomy with his hands.  Instead, he rubbed against him sensually, memorizing every angle and plane of his body against his.  He savored every taste, every lick, every nibble and every touch, and he groaned softly as his advances were reciprocated.  Vincent had become a bit bolder with maturity, touching him with more confidence.  He loved the way he did so, while still remaining “his Vincent”. 

"Whatever comes of this mess," he said huskily against the Earl’s chest, "You are still my Vincent."

It was sappy and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past his animated lips.  He took advantage of the proximity of the young man’s left nipple to shut himself up before he became mired in his own errant poetics, closing his lips about it and flicking his tongue lightly against the tightening bud.

The earl gasped, moaning out as he began to writhe under his lover’s form. Silver hair tickling his sensitive skin. His hand twitched, wanting desperately to dive down between their forms and take hold of both their shafts, rubbing them together.  
  
The urge grew too great not much longer after he got it, and he did so, gripping them both in hand and slowly stroking them as one.

"Vincent," groaned the mortician, "love…"

He began to pump against the grip, and he reached down with one hand to cup it over the Earl’s encouragingly.  He levered himself up on one arm and he covered Vincent’s mouth with his own, seeking out his tongue with his own.  He pushed in past his parted lips, found his goal and plundered it.  The heat was building, and he pushed it back with determination.  They had all night.  He wouldn’t spoil that with his greedy lust. 

Forcing himself to calm down, he stroked Vincent’s tongue with his own, his hand covering the one that was stroking them both off.  His length pressed firmly against Vincent’s as the human’s gripping hand slid up and down the girth of both of them.  Not for the first time, he wondered how it was possible for a creature such as himself, with no need for air, couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

The earl was panting, sweat forming on his smooth skin. He could tell Undertaker wanted to take things slow, and he slowed himself down as well, but it felt like it was driving him mad. each touch, caress, lick…they all felt intensified. his skin felt more sensitive, and Undertaker himself…he felt like heaven; an angel dragging him into physical paradise.  
  
They were still in foreplay, and already he felt so close to the edge.  
  
Hugging his lover, Vincent cried out; “Oh—God! Undertaker!”

The sound was like music to his ears, and the reaper’s immortal body shuddered with lust.  “Shh, my dear,” he whispered.  He licked the side of Vincent’s face slowly, letting his tongue trace the aristocratic structure of it as he steadily guided his stroking hand.  “Not yet…not yet.  We’ve the whole night to love each other, and it’s been far too long.”

His ghostly blanket of hair fell over the both of them as he guided the motions of Vincent’s hand to slow, and he kissed him on the mouth again.  He drank in every soft, desperate sound from his lover’s lips, throbbing all over with need for him but refusing to give in.  He’d loved him for a while now, but seeing him retain that part of him that made him so irresistible only seemed to amplify those feelings.

"My dear, darling Earl," gasped the mortician through his teeth, breath hissing between the ivory structures with each gasp.  "Ah, but…there I go.  I’m so blasted…sentimental with you."

"No…" Vincent cupped the reaper’s cheek, "I like it…don’t hold back…and if it does rush things—no one ever said we can’t go again this same night." he propped himself up, his lips brushing over Undertaker’s ear as he whispered, "Talk to me as much as you desire, my immortal love."

Undertaker shuddered with desire and passion.  His feelings for this man…this mortal…were so consuming, now.  The knowledge that he was doomed to die, one way or the other, made him want to cherish every moment with him even more.  “I adore everything about you,” he sighed. 

He kissed his brow.  “The way these tighten with thought when your mind is troubled…”

He kissed his cheeks, one at a time.  “The way these pull taut when you smile, revealing that perfect bone structure…and this little mole here.  I do so love that.”  He kissed said mark, before moving along, his hand steadily guiding Vincent’s over the entrapped length of their cocks. 

He moved on to his lips, pressing shallow, needy kisses against them.  “The way these can curve into a smile, or a frown, and the way they yield to me when I kiss them.  All of it…all of it, my dear.  And that’s just your bloody face.”

The mortician laughed softly, rearing back to gaze down at the splendor that was his noble lover.  “I love the way your chest heaves with breath, every time I stroke you.  I love the way your throat arches, the way your nipples harden, and the way your abdomen flexes with every…single…tug.”

He demonstrated this fact by guiding Vincent’s hand tighter around their erections, his breath catching with need. 

"And your voice, love…I could listen to that sound in my grave forever and be completely content."

Unable to go on, not even sure of what he was saying any longer, the Undertaker kissed his lover hard and urgently, thrusting into his griping touch and rubbing against his answering desire.

The human’s free arm encircled around his timeless lover, legs following suit, hugging their bodies as close as their physical forms would allow. His lips, kiss-swollen, moving, sliding against Undertaker’s, tongue twisting around his, moans mixed upon his breath and lingering between them. 

The mortician made a desperate, aggressive sound in his throat, picking up the pace.  He sucked on Vincent’s tongue, his hand urging the Earl’s to grip a little harder and move a little faster.  His kiss swallowed Vincent’s moans, and he honestly couldn’t be certain the sounds weren’t just coming from Vincent.  He didn’t require breath, but he was panting like he was running a marathon and a bloom of passion-induced heat gave his pallid cheeks a hint of mortal coloring. 

"V-Vincent," he groaned, releasing his mouth to lay his head against his shoulder.  He tried to hold back, but he’d gone without the man’s touch for too long.  Undertaker hissed through his teeth as it started, and he was helpless to stop it when he began twitching in Vincent’s hand.

Vincent sped up the speed of his strokes, “Ahh!” Too much foreplay it seemed, as he stiffened, his member twitching as his pleasure spilled over, “Undertaker!”

The reaper crushed his mouth against Vincent’s, passion and pleasure claiming dominion over his senses.  Their seed intermingled, slippery against their skin as they writhed together and spent themselves.  Gasping, shaking a little, Undertaker rode it out until the delightful pulses ended.  He took a moment to catch his breath, kissing the perspiration-beaded brow of his lover as he enjoyed the afterglow.

"You realize of course," he declared huskily, "that the moment I get my second wind, I’ll be ravishing you all over again."

"I’ll…be expecting it…" Vincent panted, kissing Undertaker’s fingertips.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker did indeed gain his second wind, and they spent the entire night making up for lost time together.  Vincent demonstrated greater confidence and boldness in bed than ever before, keeping up with the reaper quite gamely and even demanding more when Undertaker tried to take a breather.  By morning, they were both so sexed up that they slept all the way through until noon—and then they had a bath together and fell into yet more play before eating lunch and calling Rachel to check on her and Ciel.

The time inevitably came for Vincent to leave, and he called his driver to come and collect him.  Undertaker was showing him to the door when he noticed his limp, and he snickered before he could stop himself.

"A bit stiff today, are we?" teased the reaper knowingly.  He felt a little bow-legged himself, but Vincent likely wouldn’t find sitting on his bum to his comfort for the next day or so.

"Who’s fault is that?" Vincent threw the comment over his shoulder with a smirk. He would have kissed the man, but his driver was there laying witness to whatever happened. "Thank you for allowing me to stay so that we could wrap up business in a more timely manor." he added, as the carriage’s door was held open for him, "I look forward to our next visit, I just hope circumstances will be better."

The mortician nodded and tipped the top-hat that he’d donned.  “Indeed, my lord…indeed.  Say hullo to the Missus for me and give the nipper a tickle.”

He saw him off with a smile and a wave, and when the carriage disappeared down the street with his lover, he sighed.  A snowflake drifted down from the cloudy sky, and the reaper frowned at it.  “It’s a bit late in the season for you,” he said as the delicate ice formation landed on his sleeve.  Another flake came down, and another after that. 

"Hmm, snow flurries in March," he mused.  He breathed in the cool spring air, and he sensed they’d have a short, mild summer and an early, cold winter this year.  It seemed winter had begun to arrive early and linger for longer than usual, lately.  He felt a shiver as he wondered over the portent of it.

 

* * *

 

Days passed into weeks, weeks passed into months, and months passed into years.  Little Ciel grew slowly, and he was promised to one Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford as a spouse, once they were both of age to marry.  Fortunately, the Lady Elizabeth was the same age as Ciel, and she also happened to be Vincent Phantomhive’s niece.  Her family often visited the Phantomhive estate and vice-versa, not only to spend time with the Earl and his Lady, but to allow the children to get to know one another.  Arranged marriage to cousins within the monarchy was quite common, and it seemed that Ciel and Elizabeth were fond of each other.

He was a small fellow, though; much smaller than other boys his age.  Undertaker teasingly remarked to his dear friends that “Lizzy” would outgrow him before they got married and Ciel would have to stand on a box to kiss the bride; to which Rachel rebuked that big things came in small packages.  Undertaker of course started to respond to that with a grin, only to be shushed and nudged by Vincent before he could let his mouth run away with him.

True to his word, the mortician acted as the “funny uncle” that came ‘round now and then for gatherings, known to Ciel only as the strange, smiling funeral director that liked to spend time with his parents.  One such social gatherings resulted in a rather amusing conversation between the Undertaker and another local Earl, who insisted upon dragging the reaper into the conversation in the Billiard Room.  As Vincent bent over to take a shot with his pool stick, Earl Renfield looked at the mortician curiously, obviously confused as to what he was doing in the company of nobles.

"And what is it you do, sir?" he asked the tall, silver-haired man.

Undertaker noticed Vincent’s pause, and he smirked before answering.  “I embalm dead bodies, of course.  Have any you need taken care of?”

"He’s a family informant," said Lady Rachel smoothly, smiling politely at the visiting Earl.  "He’s worked with the Phantomhives for years."

"Oh?"  Lord Renfield puffed his pipe, watching Undertaker with interest.  "I beg your pardon, Madame, but I must question why he’s here now, at this  _elite_  social gathering.”

Undertaker grinned broadly, prompting the man to take a step back.  “Because I’m the funny uncle.”

"He’s family, to us," elaborated Rachel before her husband could remark—and by the thunderous expression on Vincent’s face, his words wouldn’t have been very polite.  "And a vital part of our unit, sir.  Please don’t insult him, or I fear my husband may have you thrown out."

Undertaker smirked as the man reddened and lapsed into silence and busied himself elsewhere.  He leaned toward Rachel and he winked at Vincent through his bangs.  “Thanks for that, love.  You probably averted a costly scene, with your intervention.”

Rachel smiled softly and straightened her lacy gloves.  “He’s quite protective of you, Undertaker, and he takes insults to your person seriously.  So do I.”

The mortician nodded and took one of her gloved hands to kiss the top of it.  He and Vincent had never gotten around to explaining who and what he truly was, but the lady of the house never pressed them for explanations or details, and she seemed to instinctively know already.  “Dear lady, I have never been so blessed to have friends like you before.”

He felt a tug at his robes then, and he looked down to find little Ciel looking up at him with wide blue eyes.  Startled at the toddler’s sudden appearance, the reaper knelt down with a smile as Rachel gasped. 

"Ciel!  Where is your nanny?" demanded Rachel in a scandalized tone.  "You’re supposed to be in bed!"

"In da kitchen," answered the child.  "I wan away fwom her."

Undertaker snickered softly.  “Did you, now?  Why?”

Ciel looked over his shoulder uncertainly, before grabbing Undertaker’s long, flowing hair for balance and leaning toward him to whisper in his ear.  “She woodent scar da bogeyman away.”

Undertaker chuckled with amusement, glancing up at Vincent and Rachel.  “She wouldn’t?!  What sort of a nanny  _is_  she, anyway?  That just won’t do.”  He held his arms open.  “Come on, nipper.  Uncle Unnie will take care of that for you now.”

Vincent and Rachel looked on with fond amusement as their little son put his arms around the Undertaker’s neck and allowed him to scoop him up.  The nanny came hurrying into the Billiard room just as the reaper was leaving with the boy, and she was visibly relieved to find Ciel in his arms.

"Oh, thank god!  I just looked away for a moment as I was getting a snack for him, and he just…vanished!"

"Not to worry, Madame," said the grinning mortician.  "I’ve got it well-handled.  I’ll put this little fellow to bed for you."

Flushing with mortification, the nanny bowed, her gaze going to the parents.  “Please forgive me.”

Rachel was smiling.  “I know how clever and sneaky my son can be, Katherine.  There’s nothing to forgive.  Just watch over him after the Undertaker puts him down for the night, won’t you?”

"Yes, Mum," agreed the flustered nanny.

 

* * *

 

Undertaker carried his lover’s small progeny up the stairs and into the child’s bedroom connecting to the master one.  He bent over with Ciel and he checked under the crib.

"No bogeyman under there," he announced with a smile.

"Wardwobe!" Ciel demanded, pointing his little finger at the closet. 

Undertaker obligingly carried him over and opened it.  “No monsters in there either, little lord.  Shall I check the toy chest, next?”

Ciel nodded, and the reaper walked over to said chest and looked beneath the lid.  “Nothing hiding in there either, see?  You’re perfectly safe.”

Apparently satisfied, Ciel rested his head against Undertaker’s chest and he played with his single, long braid.  “Unnietaker?”

"Hmm?"  The reaper smiled against the child’s soft, dark hair.

"Why you haf a knife in your shadow?"

Undertaker frowned and pulled back to look at him.  “Pardon, little one?”

Ciel pointed at the floor, where their shadow fell over the carpet in the moonlight shining through the window.  “You haf a big knife on a pole,” he explained, “but I dun see it ‘cept in your shadow.”

The mortician whistled softly.  Somehow, this child had detected his death scythe without ever having seen it manifested before.  “Oh, you  _are_  a perceptive little fellow, aren’t you?”

Ciel’s blue eyes remained steady on him, demanding an explanation.

"Well, I’ll tell you," Undertaker decided, sitting on the pillowed window sill with the boy.  "Your old uncle Unnie has an…illness."

Ciel looked concerned suddenly, and Undertaker was quick to reassure him.  “Nothing life threatening, my dear boy, but odd.  I cast that shadow because…because…”

He wracked his mind, trying to come up with a reason—besides the truth—that a young child could understand.  “I made a deal with Death,” he said at last.  “I promised it that I would look after you and your family.  The shadow is only a reminder of my promise, so please don’t be worried.  It can’t hurt you or anyone else, if I don’t let it.”

"Kay," sighed the sleepy child with a yawn, content that his "Uncle Unnietaker" wouldn’t allow harm to come to him.

The reaper gently lowered the boy into his crib, tucked him in and bid him goodnight.  After watching over him for a little while, he softly called out to the nanny and took his leave to return to the Billiard room.

 

* * *

 

"Chase all the monsters away?" Vincent asked as Undertaker returned. He stood, leaning against the side of a chair, grinding chalk onto the end of his pool stick, awaiting his turn as a German he had gone to school with; Diederich, sunk a ball into a pocket and moved to make his next shot.  
  
"Young children have such the imagination." a French viscount with greying blond hair chuckled, "Always seeing what doesn’t exist. Why, my son says he keeps seeing an angel of death, can you believe it? I don’t know where they come up with these things."

Undertaker glanced sidelong at Vincent.  “Yes, children do imagine the silliest things, don’t they?” 

Chances were, if the man’s son was truly seeing a reaper,  his days were numbered.  It was tempting to ask the viscount if the child was ill, but he suspected by doing so, he would only give rise to questions.  That simply wasn’t a thing to ask someone out of the blue in a social gathering like this.  He watched Vincent take his next shot, and he admired the curve of his backside as the Earl bent over.

There had been no assassination attempts of late, and word had it that the last one to attempt it over four years ago—the man Vincent maimed—passed away last month, stabbed to death in the street by an unknown assailant.  The people he’d collaborated with died under mysterious circumstances three years ago, so it couldn’t have been any of them.  Undertaker shrugged it off.  He’d taken care of everyone involved in that little string of assassination attempts.  Whether one of the queen’s agents or some random lunatic did it, the amputee’s troubles were over, now. 

The reaper smiled and thanked the maid as she offered him a brandy, and he chuckled as he drank it and the young lady blushed.  Even now, she still got flustered when he smiled at her.  He’d have thought the dear girl would be accustomed to him by now, but her little crush apparently lingered on.  Not many people would blush like that over his wide, toothy smiles.  It was a good deal more common to inspire fear with them, rather than adoration.  She was an odd lady, their maid. 

"You aren’t going to make that shot," observed Undertaker when Vincent called out his goal.  It was a more than tricky shot—it was downright impossible.  Even someone as good as Vincent wasn’t likely to make it. 

"Oh, no?" Vincent glanced over his shoulder at the reaper, "Want to make it a bet?" he smirked.  
  
Undertaker was the only person Vincent ever lost bets to. And on the occasion that he proposed the bet; it was never really clear on whether or not Vincent was trying to finally score that win over the mortician or he was asking for that loose as his ‘losses’ more often than not gained them a private evening together.

"What are the stakes?"  Undertaker smirked back, knowing full well that Vincent had to be very careful about how he worded his answer, while in the presence of others.  He crossed his arms over his chest, expecting entertainment out of this.

"Loser would perform one request from the other." He smirked, taking amusement with how stiff Diederich grew at his words. After all, it was the same wording he had used when they were school boys which lead to the German being his loyal dog in the first place.

The reaction wasn’t lost on the reaper and he snickered softly.  “Hmm, sounds fair enough, my lord.”  He gestured at the table gracefully, his long sleeve flapping with the motion.  “By all means, continue.”

The air in the room seemed to grow tense, the other nobles leaning in for a better look as Vincent lined up his shot. A few of them exchanged a quick bet on weather or not Vincent would, again, pull off the impossible.  
  
The sound of billiard balls hitting each other sounded as the cue ball hit it’s target, sending it moving into another ball, which bounced off a wall of the table and went towards another, hitting it and sending it towards it’s desired pocket—  
  
Only to be off and bounced off the corner of the walls, back the way it came before rolling to a stop on the red velvet table.  
  
Eyes turned up to look from the ball to Vincent, trying to read his expression. The Earl let the silence sink in before he let out a laugh, “Ah, well, I can’t pull off miracles all the time, can I? I was close though!”

Undertaker clapped softly, chuckling as well.  “Indeed you were, Earl.  For a moment, I thought you would really make that impossible shot.  We can discuss my request later on.”  He resisted the temptation to wink at him, though most people wouldn’t be able to tell he was doing it through the fringe covering his eyes.  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your guests.”

He turned away from him, deliberately avoiding letting his gaze linger for too long on his handsome young lover.  He spotted Rachel passing by in the corridor and he hastened to her side to chat about mundane things, needing a distraction from the intrigue that was now churning in his mind. 

 

* * *

 

Later that night, after all of the guests had either retired to guest rooms or gone home for the night, Undertaker met up with Vincent in the study.  “Are the lady and the nipper tucked in for the night, my lord?” he asked as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Vincent nodded, signing one last paper that had been resented to him that evening and placing it aside to be mailed out later, “Rachel turned herself in for the night about five minutes ago.” He leaned back in his high-backed chair and smirked, “Turning in my owed task already, Undertaker?”

The mortician nodded with a grin, and he took his hat off and tossed it lightly onto the nearby armchair.  “I’ve been looking forward to it all night, my dear.  You aren’t getting cold feet now, are you?”

He removed the beads that he wore around his neck, and he tossed those to land with his hat.  He rid himself of the sash draping his shoulder next, and then he began to unbutton his robe with deft flicks of his pale fingers.

"Now, why would I?" Vincent smirked, eying the man as he removed his clothes, "Bets with you I don’t mind loosing. I just would like to point out that sometimes, more often than not, you make me wait for it." he stood up, removing his ascot and unbuttoning his vest.

"How careless of me," sighed the reaper.  "I’ll have to make it up to you then, won’t I?" 

He slipped out of his robes and let them fall to the floor, leaving him with only his long black, white-collared shirt, snug pants and thigh-high leather boots.  He combed his bangs out of his eyes to gaze at his lover directly, and his smile became sultry.  “How would you have me make it up to you, Vincent, if I were to allow you a request?”  His voice had deepened to a rich, resonant purr, abandoning the staged voice he used as the Undertaker.  His eyes were heavy-lidded, the long white lashes lowered over the sparkling emerald-amber irises.  He unbuttoned his shirt as he watched him, smiling with sensual promise.  The garment soon joined the robe on the floor.     

The earl let his shirt slip down his arms and onto the floor as he walked slowly over to the reaper, tugging his white gloves off one-by-one. His gloves, over the years, had become a clue to ‘which’ Vincent he was. He always wore black when he was doing things he had to as the ‘Evil Nobleman’, white was what he wore as a businessman and loving father and husband…but no gloves at all…that was when he became all Undertaker’s, Fully, without any hesitation. His lover became his priority, rather than work or family. (Of course, he would be quick to pull back on his white gloves should his family need him.)  
  
He stepped up to Undertaker, running his hands over his pale shoulders as he leaned in, kissing his pectorals, his eyelashes fluttering against Undertaker’s flesh as he closed his eyes. “Keep the boots.” he requested simply.

The reaper chuckled softly, letting his nails glide slowly down Vincent’s back.  “You want me in just my boots?”  It was do-able, certainly, but he would have to remove them first and take his pants off, then put them back on.  He certainly didn’t mind the slight hassle of fulfilling such a simple request.

Vincent nodded, “ _Just_  your boots…” he reached down, running his hand up along Undertaker’s leather-covered inner thigh. “These ones are new…are they not? Your previous ones didn’t come up nearly as high…and they had fewer buckles.”

"Indeed, they are."  Undertaker felt a shiver go through him at the intimate, sensual touch.  "Like them, do you?"

"Mmnh…" Vincent slid down along his lover’s body, getting to his knees and pressing kisses to the leather, answering the question with a small moan as he ran his tongue back up the boot.

Undertaker’s mouth fell open in a rare moment of pure, sincere surprise.  He sprang a stiffy so abruptly from watching the explicitly carnal display of approval that he grunted, and he reached down to run his fingers through the Earl’s blue-black hair. 

"Mercy," he breathed.  "I should have tailored these bloody boots a long time ago.  What was I doing, again?  I can’t seem to recall."

He was amazed he could even find his tongue to speak at all, watching Vincent’s licking his boots like that.  What a sinful, beautiful thing he was…so open with his passion when they could make time for each other.

Vincent smirked against the black leather, “You were going to collect what I owe you,” he muttered, tugging on a leather strap, “and loose the pants.”

"Right," agreed the mortician. 

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he was going to request of Vincent, but it didn’t really matter, now.  He was sure it would have been something sexual and this was working out far better than anything he might have dreamed up.  He stepped back from Vincent, though he was loathe to interrupt his lavish attentions to his boots.   He undid his pants and he took a seat on the leather sofa to unfasten the buckles on his boots.  He moved swiftly, getting the footwear off and sliding his pants down and off within moments.  His erection was flushed pink and shiny at the tip with arousal, and when he got the boots back on and stood up, it wobbled with his motions.

Now nude save for the leather boots and the long, silver hair draping his back and shoulders, the reaper nodded meaningfully at his companion and smiled.  “Your turn to lose the pants, darlin’.”

He should have felt foolish, standing there in the Phantomhive study in naught but his boots, but the hungry look in Vincent’s eyes as they glided over his scarred nudity made it difficult to muster up any ambiguity over the situation.

The Earl stood back up, kicking off his shoes and tugging off his socks before slowly, teasingly, he removed his belt and pushed his pants from his hips, swaying them slightly as he worked them down his legs.  Undertaker watched with fascination, never tiring of seeing the lean athleticism of Vincent’s form revealed to him.  He approached him when he finished and stood back up, letting his eyes drink in the sight of him up close.  This was one of the few times he missed his old glasses; but they inevitably moved in close enough to one another for him to see him clearly, anyway.

"I adore this body," murmured the reaper, running his hands over the broad shoulders, the toned biceps and the supple forearms.  He lowered his mouth to Vincent’s for a kiss as he put his arms around him, taking a moment to brand his lips with his own.  He slid his hands down his back to let them settle on the twin mounds of his bottom, and he rubbed the firm, tight roundness before giving it a squeeze.  His arousal pressed against Vincent’s lower belly due to his greater height, and Vincent’s in turn rubbed against his thigh. 

"Where do you want me, love?" purred the reaper after kissing him for a moment.  Right now, he didn’t care who lost the bet.  He’d do practically anything Vincent asked of him.

"Me? You won the bet…" Vincent smiled, backing him up to the leather sofa and pushing him down onto it and moving to straddle him, "Don’t tell me my little request made you forget that. I’m here to pleasure you…" he kissed his jaw, "…however you wish me to…" a kiss to his neck, "…my love."

Undertaker slid his hands over Vincent’s torso, pausing to tweak his nipples to hardness before reaching down with the right one to tease the stiff length of his cock.  He lightly stroked the vein on the underside with the pad of his thumb, upwards from the root to the tip.  He then petted the top of it with his other fingers, gliding them along in a caressing manner to the frame of dark hair surrounding the member. 

"I think I should like you to lick me," he purred, "starting with my boots, like you did earlier."

Though he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t splurge all over the place before Vincent’s mouth even got close to the source of his carnal ache.  Watching him do that was probably the most erotic moment Undertaker could remember having in…well, possibly ever.  

The Earl slid down out of his lover’s lap, crouching between his legs and running his fingers over his boots. Slowly, he leaned in, firmly pressing his tongue to the side of the man’s leather boot, just above the ankle, and running his tongue back up along the black leather. He lifted the mortician’s leg to help make it easier for Undertaker to see his actions.  
  
He then moved to the other boot, doing much the same thing, only making sure to include a few tugs on the buckles with his teeth as he made his way up and onto the soft flesh of the reaper’s inner thigh.

The reaper inhaled slowly, trying desperately to calm himself.  He could have stopped breathing at all if he could spare the wits to consider that option, but he was utterly entranced with his lover’s actions.  He slowly stroked his hair, his lips parting as the damp tongue slicked over his thigh.  His erection twitched, lifting briefly from its outward angle between his thighs, and he ran his tongue over his teeth.  He decided he could definitely stand to receive this sort of treatment more often.

The Earl’s tongue slid further up and over his hip. His cheek brushing against Undertaker’s length as it moved past and around to his abs. He nipped, sucked, and kissed his way up, his tongue giving attention to each nipple, his collarbone, neck and under-jaw. “Mmm…”

"I think you’re neglecting something, darlin," murmured the reaper huskily, barely able to get the words out.  In truth, he wasn’t sure he could last if Vincent put those lips around his…

"Bloody hell," he gasped, sucking in a few sharp breaths, "N-never mind, love.  You’ve got me hot and bothered as it is."

Vincent gave a low chuckle, “I’ll get around to it. You said ‘start with the boots’ you didn’t specificity any further than that.” He ran his fingers through a lock of white hair, continuing his attentions to nearly every spot on the man’s body but the tall, aching member begging for his lips.  
  
He licked along Undertaker’s arm and guided two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them.  The reaper drew in a sharp breath again, pushing his fingers in and out of the sucking mouth and somehow retaining the wits to keep his nails retracted whilst doing so.  Undertaker purred in his throat at the feel of Vincent’s tongue stroking against the pads of his fingers, and he sat mesmerized by the sight of those lips encircling them.  A dozen expletives came to mind as the heat of passion in him rose to terrible heights, but he kept them tightly sealed behind his teeth as he watched his fingers move in and out of Vincent’s sucking mouth, glistening with saliva.

"Ahh…" Vincent let his fingers slide from his mouth with a wet pop, his tongue following the digits past his lips slightly as a string of saliva connected them. "Undertaker…"  
  
With hooded eyes, Vincent moved, straddling his lover again, their cocks pressed together as he leaned in, suckling on his lover’s neck.  Undertaker reached down and gripped them both, unable to resist.  The viscous coating of arousal on the tip of their erections mingled as he slid his hand up and down along the lengths of them, slicking his fingertips against the moist heads in passing.

"Kiss me, love," he demanded huskily.

"If you prep me." Vincent hummed back, brushing their lips together, "God, I want you so bad."

"Ahh, so  _that’s_  what your seductive little trick was all about.”  Undertaker grinned at his saliva-moistened fingers in understanding, and he wasted no time putting Vincent’s efforts to good use.  They would need more lubrication than that, of course, but it would at least allow him to get started on the request.  “I’m more than happy to oblige, my dear.”

He traced Vincent’s spine with his dry fingertips as he made his way down to the sweet, firm mounds of his bottom.  He pressed a finger between the cleft in them and his breath mingled with Vincent’s; the Earl’s lips still teasingly just out of reach.  He eased into him with careful skill, and he watched in fascination as the young man’s high cheekbones flushed in reaction to the penetration.  He ran the tip of his tongue over Vincent’s lips as his breath caught, and he felt him deliberately trying to relax around his finger.

The Earl smiled, a moan pushing past his lips as they pressed up against his lover’s. He ran his hand up along his thigh.  Undertaker pressed deeper, then withdrew, only to return again.  The hand encircling their tightly pressed arousals moved faster, and his breath followed the tempo through his nostrils.  His tongue fenced with Vincent’s and he swallowed a groan as the young mortal began to rock on top of him, riding his probing finger slowly.  He pushed in with the second finger and he undulated beneath Vincent; letting his hip motions synchronize with his hands.

Vincent let his head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. his breath feathering across his skin. Groaning, he rolled his hips and blindly reached over to the side table looking for the drawer and fishing out a bottle Undertaker had left there weeks before.  Undertaker scissored his fingers inside of him as Vincent retrieved the bottle from the drawer.  He nuzzled his dark hair and he stopped fondling their shafts to hold out his palm.  When the other man drizzled some of the oil onto it, he made quick use of it to slick it over his straining sex.

"Lift up, my dear," commanded the reaper huskily.

As soon as Vincent did so, the Undertaker withdrew his fingers from within him and he used the remaining oil on his free hand to lubricate his entrance.  Vincent still had the bottle in his hand when Undertaker positioned himself and lifted his hips, penetrating him shallowly.  He forgot about his frustration over the lack of attention to that body part immediately, upon feeling the Earl’s body slowly sheathing him.

"Mmph…darlin’," he grunted against Vincent’s shoulder, his breath catching.

"Uhh—nnn!" Vincent let the bottle slip from his fingers, bouncing off the sofa and onto the floor, rolling under the couch—luckily, the lid was on it. It didn’t take him long to adjust before he started moving, rocking his hips and riding his lover up and down his shaft to the hilt.  
  
Lips wet with saliva, he kissed Undertaker again, his own member twitching as he moaned in pleasure.  The mortician embraced him and kissed him back with enthusiasm, pumping beneath him almost desperately.  He reached up and cupped the back of Vincent’s head with one long-fingered hand to press his mouth more firmly against his and muffle the sounds of his groans.  He imagined Vincent wouldn’t fancy the thought of someone overhearing, mistaking his moans for sounds of distress and breaking down the door to find them this way.

"Quietly now, dear lad," panted the reaper against Vincent’s moaning lips.  "House full of guests, remember?"

He contradicted his own warning by driving into Vincent at an angle that he knew drove him mad with pleasure, and he grinned.

"You know I can never when we are—IEAHH!" he cried out, his back arcing "Oh GOD!"  
  
Control was lost to him and he would have fallen back, if Undertaker hadn’t been holding onto him. He panted and looked down at his lover, lust and love making his heavy-lidded eyes glisten.  The reaper gazed up at him with equal lust, breath hissing through his teeth as he drove in again at the same angle.  He embraced him with one arm to steady him as he provoked more litanies to the almighty, thoroughly enjoying Vincent’s vocal demonstrations of pleasure.  In truth, all of the guests and his wife were on the upper floors, and the servants had gone to their personal quarters for the night.  He imagined the butler would be the only one still up and about, and Tanaka was already aware of their relationship.

"You are," gasped Undertaker, "stunning, my lord."  He stroked Vincent’s heaving, toned chest down to his stomach as the Earl arched back again, and he gripped his straining arousal to stroke it firmly.  He watched with fascination as his hand moved up and down the hardened shaft, staring at the way the skin moved with his motions, and at the glistening fluid that had begun to slowly drip from the head. 

"A fine specimen of man, indeed," purred the reaper, smiling.  He kept pumping steadily, lifting his hips and his straddling lover off the cushion with each thrust.  He kept one hand on the small of his back as he stroked him with the other, and he could feel his snug passage beginning to tighten around his pumping sex.

Vincent Gasped and moaned, shifting and leaning forward as he hugged Undertaker to him, “S-So close—! Undertaker!” He continued to move himself faster along his lover’s length, desperate for that final release of passion they were sharing. “Ahh-AH!  
  
His body suddenly stopped moving, ridged and stiff as he cried out even louder, heat bursting forth as creamy white spilled over onto Undertaker’s hand. “Ah…”

Undertaker kissed his throat and chin, and he started thrusting harder.  Vincent was clenching around him spasmodically as his orgasm played out, and it increased the reaper’s pleasure and brought him closer to his own release.  “Unh…I do love it when…you do that.”

Holding him tight around the waist, Undertaker rested his cheek against his chest and drove into him again and again, with mounting urgency.  He finally gave one last, hard thrust and he groaned, bucking inside of him and filling him.  His tension faded as the climax ended, and he stroked Vincent’s back and panted softly, catching his breath.

"Think you’ll…be up for another round…once I get my second wind?" He asked between pants. 

"Aren’t I…always?" Vincent smiled, letting himself fall over onto the couch, pulling his lover with him so that they could cuddle as they rested. "Mm…Love, you are so addicting, especially when it’s been a while."

Undertaker stroked the Earl’s sweat-dampened hair and held him close.  “As are you, my dear.  You’re as habit forming as sugar cubes, and I can’t get enough of you.” 

He started to say more, but he left it at that.  Vincent already knew how he felt, and he knew that the Earl felt the same way about him.  He contented himself with the afterglow; cherishing moments like this because he knew that all too soon, his mortal lover would be torn from him by death.  Even if Vincent lived to be a hundred, his life would be over in the blink of a reaper’s eye.  Undertaker didn’t like to think about it, but when he shared these moments with his lover, he couldn’t help but be reminded that they were fleeting.

_~I would keep you forever, if I could.~_

He held him tighter and kissed his forehead, shutting his eyes and banishing thoughts of the day Vincent would be taken from him.  He could live a very long life, and Undertaker could at least take comfort in the knowledge that he would likely know when Vincent’s death was approaching before it happened.  At least he would have some warning, to prepare himself for the grief.  He’d already had special lockets made for both Vincent and Rachel, to keep a lock of their hair and a piece of their cinematic records for himself, for as long as he lived.  It was his way of immortalizing the two humans he’d come to love.

 

* * *

 -To be continued


	11. End

Years passed, and Ciel’s tenth birthday approached.  Undertaker was outside his shop putting some finishing touches on the repainting of his front door, when he felt a tug at his robes.  He sensed the presence of the little lord, along with his parents’ soul signatures.  He turned and adjusted his top-hat as he grinned down at Ciel, who stared up at him with a happy smile and a child’s innocent, blue eyes.

"Well hullo there, little lord," greeted the mortician.  He gave a nod to Vincent and Rachel.  "And hullo to you too, my lord and lady.  What brings you to this side of town today?"

"Ciel wanted to stop by and see you," explained Rachel with a fond, amused look at her little son.  Ciel was still small for his age group, but brighter than most other children.  "He wanted to share his important news with you himself, Undertaker.  We do hope you can attend his birthday party, this evening."

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," assured the reaper with a nod.  He looked down at Ciel again.  "So, what’s this important news you need to share with your uncle Unnie, child?"

"I’m ten today!" Ciel grinned, "Mummy and Daddy said I can sweep in there bed with them tonight! And I get extra cake at dinner!" He bounced excitedly, his blue eyes sparkling with joy.

The Undertaker chuckled with amusement, ruffling the boy’s soft, dark hair.  “Is that so?  Well then, perhaps I should offer sweets for the sweet, on this very special day.”  He started to dig in his pockets, and he nodded at the Phantomhives.  “With your parents’ kind permission, of course.”

"He can have one," Rachel agreed with a smile and a nod.  "No more than that, or else he’ll never sleep tonight."

Undertaker produced a small container of his signature biscuits, and he retrieved one of the bone-shaped treats from within and handed it to the boy at his feet.  “There you are, love.  Enjoy.”

He met Vincent’s eyes.  “I shall make it a point to be there before the presents are opened, my lord.”

"Just in time for the cutting of the cake, I imagine," teased Rachel fondly.

The mortician shrugged, his sleeves flapping with the motion.  “What’s an old bloke with a sweet tooth to do, eh?  I’m sure it will be delicious, Madame.”

"Mama made my cake! It’ll be the best!" Ciel said, "Hey-hey, Uncle Unnie! Can I wear your hat?"  
  
Vincent chuckled, and so did Rachel and the mortician.  Undertaker knelt down before the boy and he obligingly removed his top-hat to plop it on Ciel’s head.  The delighted laughter increased as the oversized hat practically engulfed the child’s head.  Ciel grunted and pushed it up by the rim, peeking out from under it at the laughing reaper.

"Just as I thought," observed Undertaker between chuckles, "it practically swallows you whole.  I think you’ve got a bit of growing to do before you can properly fill out my hat, little lord."

The little boy giggled, twirling around and watching the hat’s long tail of cloth wind around him as he munched on his cookie, “But I  _am_  a big boy! Daddy told me so! And I got to sit at Daddy’s desk and help him work this morning!”

"Did you, now?"  Undertaker glanced up at Vincent and winked at him.  "I’m sure you were a great help to him."

"Uh-hu!" Ciel stopped spinning, stumbling with a loss of balance. "Hey, will you play games at my party?"

"I adore games," agreed the mortician with a smile.  "I look forward to it, my lad.  For now, however, I’ll need my hat back.  I believe your parents still have some setting up to do for your special night."

Rachel nodded in agreement and plucked the big top-hat from her son’s head, handing it back over to its owner.  “Yes, we do.  Thank you, Undertaker.  We look forward to seeing you at the party this evening.  Ciel, come along like a good boy.”  She reached a gloved hand out for him expectantly, and she smiled when he took it.

Undertaker looked at Vincent as his wife waved to him and continued down the street with her chattering son.  “Ten years old already,” he mused, putting his hat back onto his head.  “Where does the time go?”

"I’ve no idea…wasn’t it yesterday he was born?" Vincent sighed, watching his little family, "Rachel and I are talking of giving him a brother or sister soon…we’ve been trying for another child for a few weeks now."

The mortician grinned.  “I wish you the best of luck with that, my dear.  Another nipper would be welcome.”

"Thank you." Vincent grinned, "Rachel thinks she already may be…she has an appointment in a few days to find out. She wants a girl this time. I’d have no complaints either way." He looked over at Rachel and Ciel who were waiting at the end of the lane, "I shall see you later this evening, Undertaker." He said, tipping his hat and turning to go join them.

Undertaker watched the family go, and a familiar sense of foreboding washed over him, stealing the smile from his lips.  He hoped the Phantomhive house security would be tight, this evening.  Knowing Vincent, it probably would.  There was no doubt in the reaper’s mind that he would do everything in his power to ensure his son had a safe and wonderful birthday.

Trying to shrug off the odd chill he felt, Undertaker went back to painting his front door.

 

* * *

The party started on time, and got into the full swing of things quickly. Ciel, Lizzy, and other children playing games in the ballroom, Rachel entertaining their mothers and women in the corner of the room, and Vincent entertaining the fathers and men near the bar that had been set up. Music played softly under the laughter of children.  
  
Then came Dinner.  Undertaker arrived just as they began serving, and Tanaka showed him into the dining room to join the family and the other guests.  The reaper grinned as Ciel saw him and waved his arms happily, and he took the seat reserved for him at Vincent’s side.  Rachel sat directly across from her husband, and Ciel was at the head of the dining table.  Roasted quail, rich sausages and an assortment of sautéed vegetables were the main course, and once they finished with that, Ciel’s birthday cake was brought out.

They sang “Happy Birthday” to him and cheered as he blew out the candles.  When Undertaker asked what he’d wished for, the boy informed him that it was a secret and it wouldn’t come true if he told anyone what it was.  Undertaker smilingly shrugged, finding that fair enough, and the cake was served.  The mortician had two slices of it; to the surprise of no-one familiar with him.  When everyone had finished their cake, Vincent directed them into the ball room for the opening of the presents.

Ciel got quite a haul, that night.  A fancy suit, an expensive toy train set, a few books, and a toy ark set, complete with all the animals and a Noah doll.  The boy and his cousin Lizzy both seemed to enjoy that one the most, and when most of the other guests retired to their homes for the night, Ciel and Elizabeth were still playing with the ark together.  The girl threw a bit of a temper tantrum when her family made her stop playing with Ciel so that they could leave before it got any later.  Vincent told them that they could stay overnight, but they apparently had a funeral to go to the next day for a colleague of Lady Midford.  He, Ciel and Rachel showed them to the door and bid them goodnight, before the Earl gave his son permission to resume playing with his new toys for a while.

Now the only remaining guest, Undertaker grinned down at Ciel as the child curled up next to his toy ark and began to fall asleep on the floor.  Vincent came up beside him, and the reaper nodded at the boy.  “It looks like he’s all tuckered out.  Wonderful party you threw, chap.”

"Good, maybe he’ll wiggle less tonight when he’s between Rachel and myself." Vincent chuckled, "I think I’ll get myself a nice glass of scotch before I turn in, tonight. Would you like to join me?"

Undertaker glanced at the clock with a frown, and he sighed.  “I wish I could, love, but I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on in the morning.  This is the season of death…business really picks up around this time of year, what with the holidays and people lapsing into depression.”  He chose not to mention the suicide rate in front of little Ciel, even though the child was already fast asleep.

Rachel came out from the hallway and she clucked her tongue and smiled at her son when she saw him lying on the floor.  “Vincent, darling…would you mind carrying him up to his room?  I can show Master Undertaker out.” 

"Of course." Vincent walked over and picked up the boy, "Come on, little man, lets go get ready for bed, and you can sleep with Mummy and I, okay?" he said as the sleepy boy hugged him. "I’ll see you Undertaker." he nodded before walking up to help Ciel into his pajamas and then into the middle of the master bed, tucking him in and promising that he and Rachel would join him soon.

Rachel thanked Undertaker for coming, and he kissed her hand and bid her goodnight before hopping into his waiting cart.  He paused for one moment to tug his robes tighter around him as a light snow began to fall, and he stared up at the manor pensively.  He felt like he was missing something, but he couldn’t think of what that might be.  With a shrug, he snapped the reins to set his donkey into motion and he drove away down the path, toward the gate and the main road.

 

* * *

A little over an hour after the Undertaker took his leave for the city, a host of mysterious, black-robed people closed in on the Phantomhive manor.  They moved silently in the night, and by the time the first guard spotted them, it was too late for him to call out.  His throat was slit and he fell to the cold ground, choking on his own blood.  Another guard fell to a whistling arrow, and yet another after that.  Soon, all of the outside house security lay dead, and one of the robed figures approached the back door to the servants’ quarters and produced a special key.

Tanaka was the first to realize the threat.  He happened to be up late, finishing up with the cleaning.  He found Mary the maid lying in a pool of her own blood in the kitchen, and he immediately went for the alarm bell to rouse the household.  Lady Phantomhive had come downstairs for a late night glass of water, and she went pale at the sound of the bell.

That was the last sound she ever heard.  Drowsy and disoriented, she had no chance to see the danger looming up behind her.

 

* * *

Vincent had spent a little longer in the library, drinking a glass of scotch slowly and having gotten caught up in a book. He had just finished his glass and closed the book, ready to turn in for the night when the alarm sounded.  
  
He lunged for the small gun he had hidden on the underside of the table, but froze when a voice warned him against it, followed by a shot that sent a bullet through his outreached hand. The table he had been reaching for was kicked and tumbled half into the lit fireplace, letting the flames spread out onto the carpet.  
  
Ciel heard a loud noise that startled him from his sleep. “Mama? Papa?” He got out of the bed, wondering where they were, and why everything was so loud. Wanting his parents, he left the room, looking for them.

 

* * *

Undertaker was just pouring a nightcap for himself when the first horrible flash of premonition struck him.  He staggered in place, unprepared for the abruptness of it.  He saw Rachel Phantomhive at the foot of the grand staircase in her manor, looking lovely and disheveled in her nightgown and braid.  He saw a masked, black-robed figure rising up behind her with a wickedly curved knife. 

"Rachel," he breathed, eyes wide. 

The knife came down before she even seemed to register the danger behind her, and she threw her head back in shocked agony.  The knife withdrew, glistening red with her heart’s blood, and then came down again.  The assailant followed the falling Countess to the floor, stabbing savagely and leaving no hope that she could survive.

Undertaker’s brandy snifter fell to the stone floor of his kitchen and shattered.

"Vincent…"

 

* * *

"Mummy? Daddy?" Ciel walked to the library where light was shining under the door, "What’s that noise?" he tugged open the door, his blue eyes widening in shock. Fire and flames licking at the air, surrounding Vincent, who sat unmoving in his chair.  
  
"DA—MMFF!" He called out, suddenly being pulled back, a leather clad hand clamping down over his mouth.

 

* * *

There was no time to hitch up Daisy and ride to the manor.  Undertaker conjured dark energies that he hadn’t used in years, desperate to reach his beloved mortals in time to save them—or at least, save their cinematic records.  He groaned when he was assaulted by a vision of a struggling, blue-eyed boy being dragged through flames by a black-robed captor.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the mental barrage and created a portal.  It took more time to manifest it than he would have liked, but he was out of practice and it was still faster than trying to ride there.  He wasted no time stepping through it once he had the gateway open, though he knew that he was already too late.

He arrived at the gates of the Phantomhive manor in a miasma of chill, black fog, and the whole place was on fire.  For a moment, Undertaker could only stare at the terrible sight, remembering seeing this before in a vision.  He’d known this day was coming; he just didn’t know when or how it would happen.  There were bodies all over the lawn and he gave them cursory glances in passing as he hastened to the front entrance.  He recognized many of the house staff and security, but he had no time to check on any of them to see if they were alive.

"Vincent?" he called out after kicking the front door in.  He coughed as he inhaled some smoke, but he needed to draw breath in order to call out to his beloved mortal and his family.  "Rachel?  Ciel?"

He saw her at the base of the stairs, then—or rather, what was left of her.  Rachel’s body had caught fire and was now smoldering amongst the flames.  He knew she’d been dead before the flames consumed her, and Undertaker gathered his powers to douse the flames.  He impulsively took the smoking, blackened body in his arms and cradled it, shaking his head. 

"Oh, my dear," rasped the mortician, gently stroking her singed hair.  He could do nothing for her, now.  "I’ll come back for your records, after I locate your husband and son.  Rest easy, my lady."

He gently laid her down and searched through the house for Vincent and the boy, banishing flames to ease his passage all the while.  He checked the master bedroom first, reckoning at least one of them might be in there.  He lied to himself as he went, telling himself he hadn’t really felt the bullet go through Vincent’s head.  He knew that both of them would prefer he save their son first, and he hadn’t yet sensed Ciel’s death.

"Ciel, lad!  Call out to Uncle Unnie, if you can hear me!"

He received no answer.

He barged through the half-open doorway of the bedroom and found it empty, with no sign of Ciel or his father.  “The study,” he coughed. 

When Vincent couldn’t sleep, he tended to work or read his favorite books.  He had to be in the study, or in the library.  Undertaker raced to the other side of the second floor, his black garments billowing out behind him and his boots barely touching the smoldering floor.  Finding nothing but scattered papers and flames in the study, he ran to the end of the hall.  He found the door to the library partway open, and he shoved it open to find Vincent sitting motionless in his chair, with his head bowed and blood soaking his face, neck and shoulders.  The end table was burning, knocked on its side against the fireplace.  The curtains had already gone up in flames and the blaze was creeping across the ceiling.  This must be where the fire had originated from.

Undertaker approached his unmoving lover with an expression of agony on his pale, scarred features that no eyes had ever seen before.  He’d loved and he’d lost in the past, but this…this was much worse.  He knelt before Vincent and took his limp hands—one of which had a hole shot through it.  There was no life in him.  It was gone.

Undertaker tried to speak, but his throat closed up and his vision blurred with tears.  He bowed his head and lifted the Earl’s hands to his face, nuzzling them with his cheeks and smearing blood over his face in the process. 

"Forgive me, love," said the reaper at last, in a choked voice.  "I failed to save your mortal body, but I cannot let you go.  Not completely.  I won’t let  _them_  come and take what remains of you from me.”

Undertaker released Vincent’s hands and stood up on shaky legs, manifesting his death scythe.  He stared down at his dead lover in a fit of angst, before pressing the blade against Vincent’s neck to make a small cut.  He immediately opened one of the special lockets he’d put aside just for the mortals he loved the most.  He already had Vincent’s mother safely kept away, and now he would have her son.

He gathered the flow of glowing, flickering life events that flowed from Vincent’s body, drawing every last one that he could with skill so few reapers still in the business could possibly match.  He closed the locket once he had collected every scrap, and he brought it to his lips to kiss the cool, silver metal.

"Beyond death, my love.  I’ll keep you both.  Your son is still alive, but I’ve no idea where.  I will…try to locate him."

He spared one last moment of tenderness for the empty shell that had once housed the spirit of his favorite mortal, stroking the blood-matted dark hair.  He bit back a sob and turned away.  He couldn’t afford to allow his emotions to rule him, just yet.  He still needed to collect Rachel and find the boy.

But first, he had to get Vincent’s corpse out of this place, before it got incinerated by the fire.

 

* * *

If someone had asked him why he felt the need to save and preserve the Earl’s lifeless body, Undertaker couldn’t have explained it.  He didn’t quite understand it, himself.  It was only a shell, and though he could keep the body from decaying indefinitely with a combination of his reaper abilities and embalming skills, he couldn’t bring it back to life.  Sick and mad with grief, however, he didn’t question his instincts.  He carried the body of his lover out of the burning estate and laid it down a safe distance away on the lawn, before returning inside to collect the lady of the house’s records.

Sadly, when he tried to gather Rachel’s cinematic records, he found them already gone.  He snarled in frustration, but he went still with the realization that if her records were gone, it meant another reaper had already arrived and taken them.  Casting a covert look around and feeling about with his senses, he detected the Shinigami agent’s presence in the upper floors.  He heaved a regretful sigh and he patted Rachel’s burnt, withered hand.

"I can only keep the memory of you, it seems.  I’m sorry, my dear."

He got up with the intention of leaving this place before the active reaper agent discovered him, but he heard a noise from near entrance to the dining room.  He nearly left it be, but he recognized Tanaka’s voice calling out in disorientation.  Undertaker followed the sound to a pile of debris, and he saw the old butler’s arm pushing aside some of it.  He squatted down and helped him out of it, removing the bigger bits and hauling Tanaka out of the mess.  The refined old man was bleeding, scuffed and bruised in several places and he stared at the Undertaker with confused recognition.  The reaper had caught glimpses of him fighting an impressive battle against the attackers, before the roof fell on him.  He’d presumed he was dead until now, because he couldn’t focus enough to confirm otherwise.

"I’ve got you," Undertaker assured him.  "Easy, old chap.  You’re lucky to be alive.  Ciel…where is Ciel?  Did you see them take him?"    

"C-Ciel," answered Tanaka faintly.  His lined old face fell, and he looked like he was fighting tears.  "They took him, sir.  They…took him away.  I could not…stop them."

"Who?" demanded the reaper, shaking him.  "Who did this?"

Tanaka groaned in pain and shook his head.  “I do not…know.  They wore…masks.  Black robes.  I heard…one remark that the…dog would pose no further…threat.”

Undertaker clenched his fists until his nails drew blood from his palms.  Tanaka looked up at him with dazed eyes.  “Forgive me, sir.  I…failed them.”

The mortician shook his head.  “No.  You were overwhelmed, and I know you did what you could.  It is  _I_  who failed them, my friend…not you.  Come, I’ll get you out of here and call the authorities.  You’re still alive and I intend to keep you that way, for when the little lord returns.”

Tanaka groaned as the ancient lifted him into his arms.  “But…we don’t know…where they took the young master.  How can you be…sure he is even alive?”

Undertaker gave him an ironic look, reminding him silently of what he was.  The butler lapsed into silence, arguing no further.  As carefully and swiftly as possible, Undertaker carried Tanaka out of the manor and onto the lawn away from the blaze.  Tanaka needed medical attention, and though he didn’t want to stick around and risk an encounter with the reaper busily collecting souls on the upper floors, he couldn’t just let the old man die.

"Stay here," he instructed Tanaka.  "I’m going in to use the phone, if it still works.  Once they’re on their way, I shall take my leave."

 

* * *

Undertaker managed to buzz the police and inform them that there was at least one survivor, before the phone line went dead.  He quickly got out of the house, sensing the approach of the other reaper.  Fortunately, he’d learned how to mask his death aura from other reapers over the years, so that they couldn’t easily sense him unless they were exceptionally skilled or exceptionally observant.  He brought a blanket he’d found still intact out to Tanaka and he covered him with it, before lifting Vincent’s body into his arms and concentrating on the manifestation of a portal back to his shop.  He could have tried to stop the flames from spreading further in the manor, but he saw no point to it now.

"Sir," Tanaka called weakly, "where are you…taking him?"

Undertaker looked down at the limp body in his arms, and he swallowed.  “I’m taking him home, chap.  I’m taking him home with me.  I don’t want anyone else putting him under the knife for an autopsy.”

Tanaka looked like he might protest for a moment, but he sighed and nodded.  “I see.  Godspeed then, Master Undertaker.”

 

* * *

A sharp-dressed man of tall, lean stature walked amongst the burning bodies of the Phantomhive estate, jotting down notes in the book he held as he went.  His dark brown hair was immaculately groomed and parted to the side, his brows were narrow, straight and angled.  His green-gold irises operated independently of each other, expanding and contracting around the pupils in the flickering light.  He stopped as he walked into the study, and a frown curved his lips.  He searched the room with narrowed eyes, and he adjusted his glasses with a scythe made to resemble a clipping pole.

"Vincent Phantomhive," he said, taking out his book and scribbling in it, "is gone.  There is neither a body, nor any soul signature.  It appears someone else arrived before I did." 

He felt along the walls, and he stopped at the bloodied chair that was now beginning to smoke.  His straight dark brows hedged as he came to a realization.  “Another reaper has been here before me.  He took not only the body, but the records, as well.  How interesting.”

William T. Spears adjusted his glasses once more, and he closed his book.  Dispatch would be interested in the mysterious disappearance of the Earl’s body and soul, and there would likely be an investigation.

"More overtime," sighed the Shinigami agent.  Well, there was nothing to be done for it.  He’d done his job tonight, and there were no more records to catalog.  He opened a portal and stepped through it; just as a burning beam from the ceiling came crashing down.  The reaper was safely gone before it hit, and the Phantomhive manor continued to burn while the fire brigade and Yard were on their way.

 

* * *

 

"There now," said the mortician in a scratchy voice that for once wasn’t just a put-on for the sake of disguise. 

He finished easing Vincent’s body into the coffin after a long, exhausting night of preservation and ancient methods that humans had never come close to mastering.  He’d cleaned his beloved’s body up, patched up the holes and ensured that his flesh would not decay for many, many years to come.  Further treatments might be required to ensure he kept, but for now, Vincent’s body was safe from deterioration.

He stared down at it, bearing dark circles of exhaustion around his vivid eyes, and he toyed absently with the locket on his belt that held all of his lover’s memories, personality and deeds.  “I’m sure you’d call me a morbid bastard for doing this,” sighed the reaper, “but I have a childish fantasy that somehow, you might reclaim your body some day.  Foolish of me, eh?”

Undertaker bowed his head and shut his eyes for a moment.  “I’m just not ready to give you up to the ground, Vincent.  I hope that you’ll understand.”

With a final, heavy sigh, the reaper bent over to adjust the body’s limbs, resting his hands over his chest in a traditional death pose.  The muscles remained loose, instead of tightening with rigor mortis as one would expect, post death.  Undertaker stroked the dark hair from the cadaver’s closed eyes, and he smiled sadly as he put a hand on the casket and prepared to close and lock it.

"Rest well, my dear.  I don’t think  _I_  will for some time, yet.”

He closed the lid with a soft creak, and he locked it tight.  He would hide it away somewhere else within the next few days, once he’d given himself time to grieve and pull his head together again. 

 

* * *

Undertaker read the paper the next night, and he scoffed.  “They’re saying your body was found beside your wife and son’s,” he mused aloud, reaching down to pat Vincent’s plain, un-engraved locket, “but we know the truth to that, don’t we?”

The Yard had already come to question him about it, and he allowed them to search his basement and living quarters when they didn’t believe his story that he didn’t have Vincent’s body.  They of course failed to find the hidden door and the alcove beyond, and they left disappointed.  Undertaker had little doubt that the press embellishment was at least partially the Queen’s doing.

The mortician’s eyes narrowed as he flipped to the next page and found an article that caught his interest.  “Huh.  Says here you can order a painting of Her Royal Majesty, to hang on your very own walls.  Maybe I ought to put aside some of that wretched coin of the realm for some sport, don’t you think?”

 

* * *

"Yes, that’s it…right there."  Undertaker grinned as the delivery men hung the framed portrait of Queen Victoria on the eastern wall of his basement.  Both of them looked like they were about ready to piss themselves as it was, for there were three smelly cadavers in the process of being embalmed on the tables.  "Excellent.  Step away from her now, please."

With a glance and a shrug at one another, the two young men did as bidden.  Undertaker’s eyes glittered madly beneath his silver bangs and his smile was predatory as he stared at the painting.  “Let’s give the lady her dues, shall we?” muttered the reaper. 

Suddenly, he whirled in a deadly spin and sharp stakes of wood manifested from out of nowhere, whistling through the air to slam into the portrait of England’s reigning monarch.  The first pierced her face, the second her breast, and the third her stomach.  The delivery men ogled the eccentric mortician’s handiwork for a moment, before looking at him with abject terror in their eyes.

"I think she looks much better that way," remarked the Undertaker, "Don’t you, lads?"

"B-but that’s—" began the one on the left, and the one on the right nudged him to silence.

"It’s your painting, sir.  Thanks for the business!"  He grabbed his companion by the arm and practically hauled him up the stairs and out of the shop.

Undertaker watched them go, and he tapped a black nail against his teeth in thought.  His gaze strayed to the now savaged picture of the Queen, run through by his sotobas.  “Yes, that look  _does_  suit you, Highness.  Unfortunately, I can’t kill you just yet, without risking attention from Dispatch.  Death will come for you eventually, my dear, whether it is delivered by my hands, someone else’s, illness or sheer age.  Your time is limited.”

He bowed his head and touched Vincent’s locket.  “Just like all of them.  Just like him.  Only difference is you’re still around, while others like him that deserve the chance to live aren’t.  I’d be happy to fix that little problem, except I know it wouldn’t be well-received by the authorities of my kind.”

He started to think about how unfair it was, for a kind, loving, passionate man like Vincent to lose his life while people like Victoria lived on.  He yanked one of the sotobas out of the painting, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the Queen’s face.  The grave marker was splintered and ruined from the impact against the stone wall, and an average human couldn’t have possibly pulled it free from the stone.  For Undertaker, however, it was child’s play.  He held up the ruined wood, examining the markings of mourning thoughtfully.

"But…what if it doesn’t have to end?" he whispered pensively.  He ran his nails over the damaged wood, his smile gone completely as a possibility loomed in his mind.

"The cinematic records.  What if someone were to tamper with them, and put them back into the body?  What if the death event were erased entirely?"

He looked back toward the wall with the secret opening, and his mind churned with dark, needy thoughts.

 

* * *

-The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoyed it! And we hope that you also will enjoy the sequel.


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